


Once and Future Destiny

by purplebudgies



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Good Mordred (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-05-15 11:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19294750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplebudgies/pseuds/purplebudgies
Summary: AU starting after the Disir (Season 5 Episode 5). What if Camelot had a shot at the future she was destined for? Upon the request of the Sarrum Arthur takes his knights to Amata to sign a peace treaty. And with one little plot change the destiny of Camelot is turned in a whole different direction. Rated T for canon-typical violence, no sex or swearing.





	1. Prologue: The Disir

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Like many others I was crushed by the end of Merlin, so after many weeks spent in mourning for our beloved characters this was my shot at a fix-it fic. I have a fair bit written already and a plan for the rest of the story, so I've done all I can to ward off duh, duh, duh... writers block. Reviews are always appreciated!
> 
> *Disclaimer* I don't own Merlin. If I did this would be a TV show, not a fanficiton:P

The footprints of the Once and Future King and his guardian Emrys were still preserved in the dust in that ancient cave. The only things to stir the stale air were low sweeping robes making little circles in the dust. Three sets of pale weathered arms jutted from within the darkened folds of their cloaks, while matted hair hung limp from shadowed faces. The scene was enacted with disquieting stillness as age-old feet shuffled over the ground. However, even as time bowed their backs and withered their hands it could not touch the voices of these three as they rose in verse.

_The Once and Future King_

_Emrys at his side_

_In all his wisdom is so prone to folly_

_The one who uttered this let a hint of a sneer enter her voice._

_That their journey has at last_

_Come to rest_

_On the edge of a knife_

_Compassion spars with duty_

_Love and hate stare at each other through a veil_

The tallest woman picked up the refrain.

_And the hands that weave fate's tapestry have ceased_

_All watch with bated breath_

Far away a wolf pack suddenly ceased their hunt. Baby chicks stopped their crying. Insects' humming died. The White Mountains were silent.

_And none can foresee the outcome… She trailed off and the hush of the outside entered the cave._

The last woman broke the silence with a whisper.

_Because fate was never set in stone._


	2. Chapter One: Little Brother-in-Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm starting off with the longest chapter I have written so far! I think it shows, but Mordred is definitely my favourite character, and fluff is a great way to start a story anyways:)

Dawn was just beginning to glow on the horizon as Sir Percival dragged himself out of bed. Yawning he sleepily tugged off his linen night shift and pulled on a pair of flaxen pants, a shirt, socks, and his most worn leather boots. He was still buckling on his belt as he stepped out of his chambers into the hall. Percival rubbed at his eyes, trying to perk himself up. He would have to be awake enough to not only get himself down to the armoury, but Sir Gwaine too. And, unlike Percival, Gwaine was certainly not known for his charisma this early in the morning. Percival picked up his pace as he made his way down to Gwaine's chambers.

Before he had become a knight Percival had always enjoyed waking up before everyone else in his family to run in the morning. The peace of the steady cadence of his footsteps soothed his soul. Even now that he lived in the castle Percival obstinately refused to give up this routine. Usually he ran around the training fields, or along the edge of the forest. The solitary quiet of the morning was so rare among the hustle and noise of the castle. Today however, Percival would be enjoying the peaceful morning with Gwaine. He had been trying to convince his fellow knight to join him during these runs for some time, and Gwaine had always staunchly refused. But last night Percival had gotten his wish when Gwaine lost a bet over whether he could convince Merlin to sneak out to the tavern with them. If he wasn't up already Merlin would be waking up well rested and sober this morning.

Percival reached Gwaine's door and knocked. A low groan was heard from inside. Percival plastered a big smile on his face and swung the door wide, letting in all the light from the corridor.

Some time later Percival and Gwaine managed to make it to the armoury. They would leave the castle through the armoury door because it was the closest to the forest, where Percival liked to run. As he was about to enter the armoury Percival heard a voice from inside humming a low tune. It was odd, he thought, for none of the other knights had ever been up this early before. The two men stepped inside, and Percival exclaimed in surprise,

"Mordred!" The young knight abruptly stopped humming, and looked up from putting on his chainmail, but relaxed and smiled when he saw the two older knights.

"Good morning."

"What are you doing up this early?" It was Gwaine who asked, having dropped all sign of sleepiness upon seeing Mordred. Mordred raised half an eyebrow, obviously thinking, I could ask you the same, but instead he said,

"I thought it would be good to get some extra practice this morning, after all the training I missed." It had been only a week and a half since Arthur and Merlin had returned from their second visit to the Disir, and Mordred had miraculously recovered. Although the symptoms of his injury at the hands of the Disir had seemingly disappeared overnight the King, by the advice of Gaius and his own concern, had still asked Mordred to refrain from participating in training until at least eleven days had passed. Gaius had said that he should be back to nearly his full health by then, and that would give him time to make sure that no further symptoms of illness presented themselves. Mordred had had to watch all the training sessions from the sidelines, and was feeling woefully even further behind all the other knights.

The knights had come to think of Mordred as a little brother, Gwaine and Percival included. Regardless of Gaius's timeline they were more reluctant to admit their "little brother" was fully well again. Mordred stood up to go retrieve his sword from the rack but Gwaine and Percival blocked him, eyes narrowing. Did Mordred seem a little pale? Was that a twitch of pain on his face? Was he still not able to stand completely straight? The questions flew rapid-fire through Gwaine's mind. If I had my way I would order that boy back to bed for another week! Without looking Gwaine suspected Percival felt the same. Mordred maintained too much composure to huff at his fellow knights, but he still looked faintly annoyed.

"Really, I'm fine. Gaius said that by today I would be ready to rejoin training." And I don't need the two of you playing nursemaid either. I've already had enough of that from Gaius and the King.

Gwaine smiled impishly at him.

"In that case I do suppose you are right. Well then, off with you mate." He stepped aside as Mordred eyed him warily, and turned to the sword rack. Gwaine shared a wink with Percival behind Mordred's back.

"Ah yes, and Mordred," Gwaine interjected, causing the later to suddenly turn back around, suspicion radiating off him. "Why not start the first lesson that you missed right now: never turn your back on an opponent." Mordred's eyes widened slightly in realization, but he was too late. Percival's strong arms encircled him from behind, easily pinning the smaller boy's arms to his side and lifting him up while Gwaine seized Mordred's boot, and with a great heave pulled it off. Gwaine wasted no time dashing out the armoury door to the outside, and after a couple seconds Percival dropped Mordred and ran out as well, a giant grin plastered to his face. Turning back he could see a crimson-faced Mordred, standing in one sock-covered foot, framed by the open doorway.

A few minutes later Percival caught up to Gwaine, still clutching Mordred's boot. Gwaine's face was red from suppressed laughter, and as Percival reached him he let out a huge guffaw. Percival couldn't help but join in. Clutching their sides it took the two some time before they could stop laughing. Finally Gwaine glanced down at the boot in his hand. "I guess we'll have to return it to him at some point." Percival nodded but chuckled.

"We can take our time. Gaius did say eleven days at the least." Gwaine nodded, sobered. Percival saw the real concern in his eyes and knew it was reflected in his own.

"He'll be fine. He did look fairly healthy. Now he'll get one more day to rest, and then we'll give him his boot back." Gwaine nodded and cleared his throat, but he didn't speak.

"I know…" Percival knew what Gwaine didn't, or couldn't say. He still remembered the long vigils the knights had kept at Mordred's bedside, watching the boy's chest rise and fall shakily, his druid tattoo startlingly dark against his deathly pale skin, purple rings under his eyes, and red staining the bandages around his chest. How many times had he nearly woken Gaius, terrified, when Mordred's breathing hitched, or he took a few extra seconds before taking his next breath? The boy was still so young, only eighteen years old. But Percival had heard his fevered mumblings during enough nights to know that his life had not been an easy one. Words like "Uther," and "Father," and "Emrys" had been repeated enough for him to know, even if he didn't understand it all, that the boy had suffered repeatedly. Percival thought again of Mordred's triskele druid tattoo and of the druid shrine the knights had stumbled upon all that time ago. What atrocities had he witnessed? Had they been at the hands of the knights of Camelot? He shuddered. Gwaine's hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his reverie. The knight's ever joking mouth was silent, but his eyes smiled.

When the two reached the castle it was much more lively than it was when they had left. Servants carried trays and baskets up and down the halls, horses whinnied from the stables, and light poured through the stain glass windows. By now most of the servants knew of Gwaine's rambunctious nature so if they thought it odd to see him carrying around a random leather boot they just shrugged it off. A serving girl passed by the knights, mouth-watering aromas coming from the steaming plate of eggs, rolls, and sausage on her tray. Gwaine inclined his head with a devilish smile as she passed. The girl blushed crimson and in her distraction Gwaine pilfered one of the oven-warm rolls from the tray.

"Ha! You are terrible! Have I ever told you that?" said Percival as they neared Gwaine's chambers. Gwaine managed another smile around his mouth full of bread.

"You were certainly right Percival." He said, changing the subject. "I would have never guessed morning runs could be this fun. If I had know I would have joined you long before now!" Percival chuckled, and continued on to his own chambers.

It was mid-afternoon when Percival was finishing his late lunch and an authoritative knock sounded on the door to his chambers. Frowning he crossed the room and opened the door to reveal Sir Leon, dressed in his red cape and chainmail.

"The King has requested the presence of yourself, Gwaine, Elyan, and Mordred for an important council in his chambers." Percival nodded, eyebrows furrowing. "If you could relay the summons onto Gwaine I will be speaking with Elyan next. Also, if you see Mordred would you tell him as well? He's seemingly disappeared, didn't show for training." It was Leon's turn to look confused. "It was odd, he seemed so excited to continue his training…" Leon shrugged. "Regardless, I would appreciate if you would inform him."

"Leon," Percival interjected, "Do you know what this is about? Should I be concerned?" Leon's mouth turned down slightly.

"All I know is that the King was clear that the matter was urgent. He didn't tell me any details." Percival nodded.

"I see. I will be there shortly."

Mordred was sitting, fuming, on his bed, his single boot lying discarded in the corner of the room. Over the last eleven days He had bided his time at the sidelines watching the rest of the knights train. Only Arthur's most trusted few knew about what had happened with the Disir. Mordred's life-threatening chest wound had been explained away by Arthur. How, Mordred had no idea. Though from his place at the sidelines he had received some sympathetic glances from the other knights.

The Disir never did anything by half measures. Mordred had reasoned that if the Disir has lifted their magical curse off of him he should be completely cured. Of course, the residual weakness had taken a couple days to leave him, but when Gaius had sentenced him to eleven days of rest he had nearly screamed. Thankfully he managed to contain his fury in a tight smile until Gaius had left before letting the facade drop. He had gripped his hair and let out a silent scream of frustration. Mordred was already self-consciously aware that his youth and lack of training put him behind the rest of the knights, so he had worked as hard as he could to catch up, and now he would have to deal with another setback. Eleven days. And now that his time of waiting was over he was missing the day he had been dreaming about and waiting for. He hated to imagine the disappointed look on Sir Leon's face when he hadn't shown up to training. And even though he did his best not to advertise his Druidic heritage there were enough other knights who already knew about it and distrusted him for it. Now missing training would only add another reason for their mistrust.

Returning to the present Mordred tried to regain a grip over his emotions. His face still burned with humiliation when he thought about this morning, however a plan was already forming in his head. Gwaine had been in his room all morning, but Mordred reasoned he would have had to leave it for afternoon training. Using magic in the castle was risky at the best of times; he had no idea how Emrys had managed to keep his secret hidden all these years. But, Mordred reasoned, desperate times call for desperate measures.

His sock feet made no noise on the stone floor, and a whispered spell quieted his rustling clothing. He reached the door to Sir Gwaine's chambers, he stopped, and pressed an ear to the door. Not hearing any sounds he extended his hand, and a flash of gold illuminated his eyes as the previously locked door swung open on silent hinges. Mordred peered around the door into the room. Unsurprisingly Sir Gwaine had left his room in a mess, clothes were strewn over the floor and bits of his lunch still clung to the discarded plate on the table. A servant could arrive at any time to clean it all up so Mordred scanned the room with haste searching for his boot. He spotted it lying beside the bed. Gwaine would have assumed that a locked door would be enough to keep Mordred out until he choose to return the boot. He chuckled darkly. Suddenly Mordred heard voices approaching from the corridor and he swept out of the room, using another spell to silently shut and re-lock the door behind him. He was so relived to have escaped unnoticed that he nearly slammed into Sir Percival as he turned a corner.

"Mordred!" The older knight exclaimed. Immediately he looked down at Mordred's hand clutching his boot and Mordred sensed his surprise. Not desiring to become the victim of another "lesson" Mordred tried to slip quickly around Percival but the a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"The King has requested your presence in his chambers for an urgent meeting." Percival stated, his tone serious. Mordred nodded slowly, surprised."I will be there as soon as possible."


	3. Chapter 2: A Servant of two Masters

_One week earlier._

Amata has been starved of her beauty. Lord Grondin was staring pensively out of his high chamber windows. For all the reluctance he had previously felt at coming to the kingdom it's intrinsic beauty had immediately captivated him. He could still remember his first view of the land as he and his escort had stepped out of the forest to see the rising sun drowning the rolling hills in shades of red, pink, and casting deep purple shadows. Crowning the scene Amata's castle sat erected at the edge of a cliff, it's stone walls glowing gold.

Now when Grondin looked out he could see that once fertile fields were parched and brown, herds of sheep and cattle were sparse, and the streams flowed murky. He could see the people were suffering as well. Life had never been easy for them, but calloused feet had still danced over earthen floors, grizzled faces could coax beautiful melodies out of small flutes, and in the streets playing children could still provoke a hearty laugh. Now, people worked to keep the dusty soil on the ground, and backs were folded from heaving out the stones that had grown, seemingly overnight, in the dirt. Grondin could not be described as a kind man, but he was not completely heartless, and seeing the kingdom he had come to care for falling into ruin didn't fail to sadden him.

A long, sharp beak was rapping on his window. Hurriedly he opened the glass and brought the bird inside. A small scroll was bound to the raven's scaly leg, and Grondin opened it with trepidation.

Rùnar,

I have news-

Grondin didn't have time to finish reading because someone was suddenly knocking on his door. "Lord Grondin Sir, the Sarrum requires your presence in the Great Hall Sir." His chambers' thick wooden doors did nothing to muffle the servants high voice. Grondin let out a low growl, and responded with no effort to disguise his displeasure at being interrupted.

"Duly noted. And before you sulk away know that my chambers were left in an atrocious state yesterday. Ensure that today they are spotless, or I will hold you personally responsible." The servant's voice was even higher pitched in his reply,

"My apologies, of course my lord." His rapid footsteps echoed as he fled down the hall. Grondin waited a minute before going the same way. An audience with the Sarrum… What could he want now? Grondin couldn't think of any way he might have displeased him. Regardless, he carefully schooled his expression before entering the Great Hall.

Built more than a hundred years ago the Great Hall of the castle of Amata was a wonder to behold. If he had been less distracted Grondin may have paused to appreciate the soaring ceilings, sculpted stonework, and multitude of stain glass windows. In a fortress like this, built primarily for war, the Great Hall was a rare piece of art. As it was, Grondin was too preoccupied to think about this. All his attention was on the Sarrum, reclining in his marble throne at the other end of the hall. He was an aging man, but weathered and toughened by the storms of many battles. It had been years since Amata had seen outright war, but that was not because of the Sarrum's peaceful disposition.

"Grondin." The Sarrum had noticed him enter.

"Sire," Grondin replied evenly, still maintaining his careful composure.

"What do you know of Camelot Grondin?" Grondin tried to conceal his surprise at the question.

"Camelot… it lies roughly a week's journey from the southwestern border of Amata. The late king Uther reigned for thirty-three years, his queen, Ygraine, passed away during childbirth…" Grondin trailed off. The Sarrum's chilling gaze was boring into him and Grondin guessed that he had not yet mentioned what the Sarrum was waiting for, but what that could be he had no idea.

"King Uther passed away almost four years ago. Now his son Arthur-"

"Yes Arthur!" The Sarrum interrupted, pounding his heavy fist on the arm of his throne. "Camelot's young king rules a blossoming kingdom with a loose hand. Yes, he is supposedly a legendary swordsman, and he has continued in his father's mission to rid the kingdom of magic, although with considerably less zeal..." The Sarrum's lip curled in disgust. "However he has proved his youthful weakness in taking a servant as his queen." The Sarrum paused for a moment to collect himself. "I am not blind to the suffering of my kingdom Grondin, and Camelot is ripe for the harvest. I will not stand by and watch my people starve if, in my grasp, I have a way to save them." Through all this Grondin stayed silent, unsure of the right words. The Sarrum smiled coldly.

"Does this surprise you Grondin? I hope you have realized by now that you will also play your part in this." Grondin felt that at this moment it would be safe to bow.

"My lord."

"Ha! Don't act so humble Grondin, I know you. The moment you leave this room you will be trying to twist this to you own ends. Don't bother because I have already saved you the effort. Anyhow," The Sarrum earned forwards on his elbows, chilling grin wider than ever. "It is time to sign our peace treaty with Camelot. Arthur will be expecting us to arrive at his castle for the signing in about a week. As we speak one of my messengers is already in his way to Camelot, with a letter claiming that I am injured and unfit for travel. I have requested that Arthur would come instead to Amata for the signing." The Sarrum looked sideways at Grondin, "Arthur will bring with him his best knights. I have heard that they are not only fierce, but also extremely loyal, and that Arthur treats them like brothers. An ambush will be laid for the King and his knights as they pass through the forest of Arisnde. It lies between our southwestern outpost on the border, and ends ten leagues from the castle." Grondin nodded, forehead creased.

"And I will be in charge of the ambush?"

"Well done!" The Sarrum laughed condescendingly. "Yes, you will be the one to bring Arthur to his knees. And to give you some added motivation I will also be needing a steward to oversee Camelot once this business is over…" He knew he was dangling a tantalizing carrot in Grondin's face, and that he had no choice but to follow after it. "I trust you understand what is expected of you?"

"Arthur will not stand a chance. I will not disappoint you my Lord." Grondin bowed once again.

"Oh I already know you won't. You know very well what happens to those who do." The Sarrum held Grondin's gaze before going back to the papers in front of him. "I expect your report to be ready in two days. You are dismissed."

That night a raven lept out of one of the highest windows of the castle. It flew southwest, and then veered due west at the border. Dawn was already brushing the horizon when the raven alighted on a pair of pale, smooth hands. Nimbley they slipped the message from the raven's leg.

My Lady,

Today has brought better news than I dared hope for. If we are wise you stand to achieve more than you ever dreamed. As you read this plans are already in motion.

At the end of the letter it read

Your loyal servant,

Rùnar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens!
> 
> *Rùnar is a norwegian name meaning "secret warrior" in old norse.


	4. Chapter 3: Not Only for Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back in Camelot! Just to be clear, this story starts after season 5, episode 5 (The Disir). This means that there is no Dark Tower and Gwen is perfectly herself. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

"Sire, a messenger from Amata," the anouncer's voice boomed through the throne room just as the huge oaken doors swung open to reveal a dust covered figure. Hastily he crossed the room in long strides, coming to kneel before Camelot's royal thrones.

"What brings you here Messenger?" Arthur asked curiously. The messenger stood and presented Arthur with a scroll sealed with the royal crest of Amata.

"My master wished that you would read his request. He offered you myself to deliver your response, if necessary." Arthur took the proffered scroll.

"You have done your work well Messenger. Now go and rest for the night. I will have a meal brought to you."

"You are most kind Sire." The messenger bowed and left.

"Well, open it!" Gwen leaned over excitedly to read the letter. As it was only himself, Gwen, Merlin, and the guards in the room Arthur quickly scanned the letter before loudly clearing his throat, and then reading aloud in an obnoxiously imperious voice,

To King Arthur of Camelot,

I regret to tell you that I have recently become unwell, and my physician has deemed me unfit for travel. Therefore I would like to request that we sign our peace treaty in Amata, as I do not know when I will be recovered, and I would not want to delay this important event. If you feel the same I will expect your arrival at our previously decided date. Otherwise I will await your answer via my messenger.

Sincerely,

Erebus, Sarrum of Amata

Arthur finished and turned to look at his wife. Gwen was deep in thought, mouth slightly open, hand squishing one cheek as her elbow rested on her armrest. He smiled and craned his neck to the side to see Merlin who was standing stiffly, eyes focused straight ahead. He had far to much of a servant's dutiful countenance, more than his irreverent personality could typically maintain. Arthur could tell already that Merlin was skeptical, and only waiting for his opportunity to express it.

"Arthur, it sounds like a trap." Merlin blurted when he noticed he had Arthur's attention. Arthur expected it, but on principle he rolled his eyes anyways.

"If the Sarrum is truly indisposed then it's a perfectly reasonable request."

"But we have no way to know! I still think it's likely a trap." Merlin crossed his arms. How many times had his manservant warned him against doing something important? And why? It had always been because "He just had a feeling." Still, how many times had Merlin turned out to be right…

Gwen still looked undecided, and Arthur knew he would have to wait until later to hear her opinion.

"Thank you for your observation Merlin, now could you go pick herbs, or do whatever else Gaius keeps you around for." Arthur was a man of principle, if nothing else. Merlin raised an annoyed eyebrow and strode frustratedly out of the throne room.

That evening Arthur was in the middle of changing into his sleeping clothes when Gwen's voice drifted over from the bed. He poked his head over the dressing screen to see her lying across the bed in her nightgown. He was so captivated by her effortless beauty that it took him a moment to register what she was saying. She noticed and giggled, eyes hiding a teasing smile.

"What do you think you'll do about the Sarrum's request?"

"I'm still not sure, although I don't see any good reasons to deny it."

"The Sarrum is a cruel, wicked man Arthur. If you pursue this peace treaty doesn't it look like you are endorsing his policies?" Arthur sighed.

"I have considered that. But Camelot is not ready to withstand a war against Amata. Even if by chance we won, our land and people would be devastated. This treaty is the only security Camelot has against the powers of Amata. The Sarrum is not known for his peaceful nature."

"A new king needs as many friends, or at least alliances, as he can get," Gwen said wisely.

"I could never consider the Sarrum a friend, but at least I will have one less enemy."

"But what if Merlin is right? You can't deny that it is potentially a trap." Gwen's voice became softer, her concern showing through. Arthur finished dressing and slipped into bed beside his wife. He took some strands of her petal-soft, shadowy hair and wound it around his calloused fingers.

"I don't know my love. If I deny the Sarrum I will have no believable reason to give him, but I could hardly accuse him of anything without evidence. However, I am not so naive as to not realize that a trap is not a possibility. He ran a tired hand through his hair. Gwen made a sympathetic noise. "What would you do?"

"Much the same as you, probably." She replied. "There are no easy solutions."

"If I went, but took the knights with me, I could have one main group, but have another, a smaller group, follow behind in case of an ambush. That way we would have at least two good defenses." Arthur sat up, suddenly inspired. "Yes! We won't risk needlessly angering Amata, but still be able to protect ourselves, and leave Camelot well defended." Gwen nodded, but sighed.

"And I will stay here, to await whatever news arrives." Arthur gaped at her.

"Are you telling me that you want to join us?" Gwen gave him a sad smile.

"If only to not have to face the days of uncertainty. But as queen I know my duty is to this kingdom, and I will stay. Arthur let out a breath.

"For a moment I thought you were serious."

"If only you could see how serious I am!" Angry, Gwen turned her back to Arthur but he could still sense the tears gathering in her eyes, and see the slight tremble to her sides. He reached an arm over to roll her back to face him. She glared away from him, tears still running over her cheeks, anger, sadness and fear all warring over the regions of her face. With a tender smile Arthur cupped her cheek and, with his thumb, brushed her tears away. Lightly he kissed her forehead. Gwen closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry Gwen. I spoke without thinking." She sighed, opening her eyes, and a small smile tugged the corners of her mouth. She rested a hand on his chest.

"Be careful Arthur. I love you."

"I love you too."

"Arthur- don't be careful just for me but," Gwen faltered, but the warmth flickered in her eyes again. She guided his hand to rest on her abdomen. "But for our child too."

"O-our… child?"

 

***Erebus is a name with Greek and Latin origins, meaning "darkness."**


	5. Chapter Four: The Journey Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they're off to whatever fate awaits them... Muah ha ha ha!

Early the next morning Arthur handed the Sarrum's messenger a scroll sealed with Camelot's royal emblem. In short it only said that Arthur would be accepting the Sarrum's request, and that he would be arriving at their prearranged date. The messenger left immediately upon receiving the scroll.

That afternoon Arthur called his knights to his chambers. When they were all there he began.

"Yesterday I received a request from the Sarrum of Amata that our peace treaty be signed in Amata instead of Camelot because of him currently being indisposed." Arthur paused, trying to gauge their reactions. Gwaine looked openly skeptical, Percival and Elyan less so, but Arthur couldn't tell what Leon or Mordred were thinking. "I cannot ignore the possibility of this being a trap. This is why I will have us split into two groups during our journey. The first group will be lead by Sir Leon. It will include Gwaine, Hugo, John, and Mordred. A sixth horse will ride in the middle of them with a mannequin designed to look like me. I will lead a second group following three hundred meters behind with Elyan, William, Ronan, Percival, and Dernhelm. I will not be taking any more knights for fear of leaving Camelot unprotected. Depending on the weather the journey to Amata will take us roughly a week, so I want you all ready to ride at dawn tomorrow morning." Arthur ended and waited for any of the knights to comment. Gwaine's lips were pinched into a thin line, but he knew that they had no better option on this short of notice. Everyone else felt the same.

Merlin was packing his old leather bag when Gaius knocked lightly on the door of his room before stepping inside.

"Merlin, I thought you should have these. He handed the young man a newly knit pair of socks. Looking a little sheepish Gaius continued,

"I just noticed your old ones have holes. I would be a terrible physician if I let my apprentice became sick from tromping through Amata with cold feet!" Merlin smiled and accepted the socks, adding them to his packing. He wasn't surprised that Gaius knew about Arthur's mission; he was a trusted advisor of the king. But Gaius was much more than an advisor or a physician, and the gift of the socks showed the care of a father. Merlin felt a feeling of warmth bloom in his stomach. Despite the knowledge that his journey to Amata would be risky at best, he also knew that Arthur was also unaware of one of his greatest weapons: Merlin himself.

Gaius was halfway out the door when he craned his neck back to look at Merlin, and in the same serious, voice, with those same raised eyebrows Gaius said the words that Merlin had heard almost daily for the last eleven years.

"And Merlin, be careful."

The group had been traveling a day and a half. Now the sun was past its midpoint in the sky and it was mid afternoon. Currently they were traveling through a dense forest, the sun casting dappled shadows over the ground, the horses, and their riders. Growing up in the forests of Camelot had instilled great wonder of the mysterious place in Mordred, and he saw beauty in every leaf, bough, brook, and canopy that spread above them. Sir Hugo was riding beside him and chuckled as Mordred unconsciously leaned his head back to feel the breeze on his face.

"You seem to be enjoying the ride." Mordred laughed sheepishly.

"I grew up in the forest. Since I came to the castle I've missed spending as much time out here." Mordred didn't mention how he could feel the throb of magic pulsing through every root, trunk and stem around them. He could sense it flow as every songbird took flight, running through every carpet of moss, or in all the rainbows of wild flowers. His druidic upbringing and inherent magic allowed him to see, hear, and feel more than most others. Hugo looked around the trail and shook his head.

"All that patrols have taught me is that sleeping in a forest means fending off midges and sleeping with roots boring into your back. But if it's to your taste, my friend, then don't let me stop you from enjoying it." Mordred laughed at the comically confounded look on Sir Hugo's face. Sir Hugo was at most one or two years older than him, and Mordred found himself liking the young knight's expressive nature and sense of humor, even though it was dramatically different from his own. It made Mordred feel more relaxed and helped him drop some of his constantly guarded composure.

"Oh no we nearly lost the king again." Arthur's dummy self was bouncing around so erratically on the back of it's horse that it's one leg had nearly slipped out of its bindings, and it's straw-stuffed torso was lolling precariously to the left. Hugo came up along the side of the dummy and did his best secure "Arthur's" leg, while still keeping his own seat. True to his nature Hugo exaggerated each failed attempt with loud groans and impressive facial contortions. Mordred watched with a smile, but after a couple minutes of increasingly louder and louder moans and grunts a word from Sir Leon put an end to Hugo's performance. Not wanting to fall back into the monotonous rhythm of the road he raised his voice to Leon.

"Sir Leon, what kind of a kingdom is Amata? I have not yet had the pleasure of visiting it." Leon didn't ignore the genuinely curious question but instead looked thoughtful for a moment.

"The kingdom of Amata is slightly larger than Camelot, but at it's most northern tips the ground is frozen during most of the year, so barely anything can be planted. Amata used to be a kingdom rich in natural resources, however in recent years drought and famine have caused it to weaken. Amata's king is referred to as the "Sarrum." He… Leon paused, carefully choosing his next words. "He is known for his unshakable beliefs in his kingdom's laws, laws that have been in place for over a century, and shows almost no leniency towards any suspect law-breaker. Camelot has similar laws but a more… receptive judicial system, as well as a lesser use of the death penalty. This difference is more distinct now that King Arthur rules." Leon paused again. It was difficult to objectively explain the politics of a foreign kingdom, and a mere knight such as Sir Leon was in no position to criticize the Sarrum, regardless of his personal feelings. Luckily for him Gwaine interjected.

"This Sarrum is particularly firm when it comes to magic. Magic-users, or suspected magic-users, are strongly punished and most are executed. He held Morgana prisoner during two years, some say in a pit, although no one in Camelot yet knows how he managed to capture and contain her." Leon and Gwaine, feeling they had given enough description, let the other knights mull over what they had said in silence. Hugo seemed content to ride pensively, with a small frown forming.

Mordred knew some of these things already. Because of the Sarrum's persecution the druids had long since fled to other kingdoms. Sometimes, during his childhood, a late night a crackling campfire would accompany some of his old elders' whispered tales of the terrible things that had happened in Amata. Mordred had hoped he would be able to avoid the place during his lifetime, but it seemed as if that wish would not come true. At the very least he hoped that no off comment would be made about druidic heritage, and he would have to be very careful about never changing in public with the others, lest someone notice his tattoo. _Please let our stay be a short one._ Ironically he thought about Emrys, the most powerful warlock ever to exist, marching up to the throne of Amata alongside his king. The humor of the idea pulled him out of his dark thoughts.

Merlin was thinking very similar thoughts as he rode beside Arthur with the second group of knights. He knew a fair bit about Amata, having heard things occasionally from Gaius and Arthur over the years. He was still wary for Arthur and the group's safety, but he was also experiencing a rare emotion- fear for himself. In the past Merlin had always been able to count on his magic to save him from all the impossible situations he had faced. The risk of being caught was still a very real problem in Camelot, but he knew that if his fears were realized and he was caught using magic in Amata the cruelty of the Sarrum would go beyond any punishment Arthur could, or would, ever choose. He sat up a little straighter, and with eyes a little brighter than before. Arthur noticed his servant's rigid posture and playfully poked him in the ribs.

"Ow!"

"Come on _Mer_ lin, why such a long face?" His manservant rolled his eyes. Typical.

"You already know how I feel about this mission."

"Merlin I love your optimism. Come on, you already know that this is the best choice we could have made. There's no use spending all your energy worrying until we get back."

"I was only thinking about everyone else back in Camelot," Merlin lied. "It will be a long time before we see any of them again." Merlin was surprised at the effect his words had on Arthur. The king's teasing expression hardened, and he looked away, something he only did when he wasn't confident he had control over his emotions, and didn't want Merlin to see. Merlin's annoyance melted into compassion for his friend. "We will come back to Camelot when everything is in full bloom. The queen be waiting for you on the castle's front steps, probably flowers all through her hair." Merlin became concerned when his attempt to cheer up Arthur only seemed to make the king more somber. "Arthur, we will come back." Arthur braved a look at Merlin and he saw uncharacteristic tears in his eyes.

"Gwen's pregnant." Merlin was shocked. Arthur, a father? Arthur the obnoxious, rowdy, and sometimes immature scallywag of a king? It was hard to picture him rocking a fragile baby, telling a toddler fantastical stories, or tucking them in with a kiss on the forehead. But then Merlin realized he wasn't giving Arthur enough credit. The man had a softer side as well. Years of loss and loneliness had created an appreciation of the joys of life, and a deep, loyal love for those closest to him. Merlin saw this all the time when Arthur was with Gwen. He knew it would be there for his baby as well. Arthur was staring at him and Merlin quickly realized that he hadn't responded. He grinned, and gave Arthur a little shove (although his thin arm barely moved the muscular man.)

"Arthur, that's fantastic! When did you find out?" Arthur sighed.

"Two days ago."

"Oh." Arthur had found out he was to be a father, and then had been pulled away his wife and future child to embark on a dangerous mission the very next day. Merlin's sympathetic silence was the best response he could offer.

Days passed and the two groups approached and then crossed the border into Amata. On their sixth day of travel they made camp on the edge of the forest of Arisnde.

 


	6. Chapter Five: Pounding Hearts, Fixed Eyes

_Tap tap tap._ The footsteps of polished boots echoed across the airy chamber. In rows along it's stone wall were nearly forty knights, each clad in chain mail and swathed with a cape of Amata green. Lord Grondin marched along the row of stern faces. Even though it was midnight each man's unwavering eyes stared straight ahead; there was no sign of fatigue in their military postures.

"You have each been selected based on your strength, your courage, and your loyalty to your kingdom!" These words thundered over the men. "Today your Sarrum has called you to protect your land and your people. Camelot is ruled by a boy-king, not a man who is worthy of his crown." _Do not question only obey. Your commander's word is your truth._ "Will you prove that I was right to choose every one of you?" The soldiers dared to look Grondin in the eye. "Will you fight alongside each other like brothers? Once the King Arthur is captured the lands of Camelot will be free to benefit all of our peoples. Your families will no longer be hungry, your children will grow up healthy and strong." Do you not see that this is the only way? There was no leeway in his voice, no room for questions, no room for anything but the building fire growing in every man's breast. "Tell me protectors of Amata, will you fight for the glory of your kingdom?" Their shout shook the night's stars.

"Yes!"

The birds fell silent, the rabbits fled as forty riders on horseback raced down Arisnde's road. The whipping dust churning at the hooves of the horses crusted on leather armour and stung faces, but the riders only grit their teeth and pressed onwards. Following behind them, at a distance, was a group of one hundred foot soldiers. They would act as a safety net of sorts, providing reinforcements if needed, and catching any escapees who managed to flee. Lord Grondin lead their charge astride a powerful, black shire. When they were half a league into the forest Grondin slowed their progress, and they left the road to advance through the brush. Finally Grondin let out a low thrush whistle: the signal to halt. The knights tethered their horses deep in the forest, then spread out over either side of the road, making sure they were hidden by stones, trunks and bracken, and crouched down to wait for their prey.

"Ah Leon, of course I grabbed it from the kitchens, where else would I have gotten it?" When Leon made a grab for the skin of ale Gwaine shoved it behind his back. "Come on _mate_ , it's only a bit to wet the gizzard on this dry road." At the grave look on Sir Leon's face Gwaine reluctantly handed the skin over to his commander. Have to set an example for young Hugo. Gwaine's thoughts grumbled internally. _Besides, the round table only has room for one impertinent knight. I really will miss the ale though._

Leon uncorked the skin and eyed the liquid inside. From their positions lounging around the campfire the rest of the knights watched with amusement. With a flourish Leon made as if to pour the ale out onto the grass, but before Gwaine could grab it back from him he pressed the bottle to his lips and downed half of it in one gulp. _Burrghpp!_ Leon looked properly shocked at the unseemingly noise he had involuntarily uttered while Gwaine and Hugo roared. Leon muttered something about respect for authority, then loudly ordered Gwaine to take first watch, and Hugo second, before shooing John and Mordred into their bedrolls to sleep.

Starlight faintly outlined Gwaine's stopped figure as he sat watch, and Mordred stared back into the dying embers of the campfire. The only noises he could hear were the occasional snore and the humming of forest insects. Again he felt a warmth in his stomach, and knew it wasn't from the stew he had eaten for supper. For once again in his life he _belonged_. He had found _family_.

Morgana laid inside her tent, soft sheepskins covering her bed. Outside it had fallen dark, but she couldn't sleep. Even High Priestesses were not exempt from the call of nature. Grumbling Morgana slipped from her bed, hugging her arms to ward of chill as she left her tent. A couple minutes later she reentered the clearing where she and her followers had made camp. She was nearing her tent when she heard voices drifting over from the few men still lingering around the dying campfire.

"Risking our life for one woman," "She's practically invincible!" "Have yous seen what she can do?" "Ten men at once," "Yes but..." Morgana tuned out the mens' conversation, not caring about their inconsequential opinions. She yawned and was nearly back to her tent when her ears pricked. _Had she heard correctly?_ Then she heard it again.

"Emrys, that's what the druids call him." Morgana spun around. The two men hadn't noticed her moving in the shadows, their illuminated faces too focused on their conversation. Dry grass crunched as Morgana marched over to the men.

"Why do you speak of _Emrys_?" she hissed. The men, surprised and terrified, turned to look at their leader.

"We-we meant no disrespect M-my Lady," the first man spluttered out. The second nodded vigorously. "It is only a n-name I heard during my travels... I do not know what it means." Morgana used all her self control to keep her voice steady.

"Have you met Emrys?" The man immediately shook his head no. "Then what do you know of… _him_?"

"O-only that I heard some druids speak of him: I stayed in their camp for awhile, that is. They seemed to believe he was some sort of special warlock. Ah yes, these two women were arguing over how powerful he really was, and then one brought up some sort of prophecy, I didn't catch that part though. Then there was this little boy, and he piped up claiming he had met him, Emrys that is. That's all, I swear!" The man's whiskered chin quivered, eyes pleading that Morgana believe him. Morgana calmed the icy fire burning in her own eyes long enough to stare into his. There was no lie there. She gave a curt nod and the man saged with relief.

"This boy... what did he look like?" Morgana's voice had changed, the undercurrent of fear was gone, replaced with cold cunning. The man scratched his balding head.

"I, uh, the boy was… he had dark, dark curly hair." The man paused, his recollection coming back to him. "Huh! It must have been close to eight years ago and I still remember; he had the most piercing blue eyes I've ever seen." Morgana couldn't suppress a sharp intake of breath. _Could it be?_ Steely, she left the men. They watched her retreating figure until the night obscured it, then turned wide eyes back to the fire, shaken into silence.

Morgana collapsed onto her bed, trembling. There was no mistaking it. She also knew those eyes very well. They were the last things she had seen as she slumped onto the floor of the caverns beneath the fortress of Ismere, blood flowing out of a wound caused by the hand belonging to those same eyes. Betrayal had never stung so much since Uther... _Uther._ Morgana pressed her fingertips to her temples and massaged them with soothing circles. Taking a deep breath she mastered herself, pushing down the churning emotions that had threatened to emerge. Rùnar's letter still laid on the table beside her bed. She seized it, scanning the words hastily until a chilling smile grew on her face.

_My Lady,_

_Today has brought better news than I dared hope for. If we are wise you stand to achieve more than you ever dreamed. As you read this plans are already in motion. In a week the Sarrum plans to set a trap for Arthur and his knights, that part of which I am responsible for. The Sarrum still has no suspicions towards me, and on the condition of my success I will be named Steward of Camelot. I assure you, Arthur will have no escape. Once he is imprisoned you will have an opportunity to exact your revenge. Then all that is left in our way to the throne of Camelot is the Sarrum._

_Your loyal servant,_

_Rùnar_

Morgana closed her eyes, and nearly wept from the emotions crashing over her. There was only one other druid she knew since Ruadan died and Sefa had fled, and already he was walking into a trap. _Mordred. It seems I will indeed have my revenge._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The storm's brewing...
> 
> *A shire is a large horse with long hair around it's hooves.


	7. Chapter Six: When the Hills Sang

By mid morning the Arisnde road was silent. Even the wind had rushed the other way, leaving only meek breezes to stir the stale air. Clouds squeezed out any warmth from the sun so the rays that trickled through cast only a cold light. Trees like stooping sentries disguised the hunters crouching behind. Out from their blackened, mud-streaked faces surveyed wide pupils; it was a predator's gaze, investigating every rustled leaf, every shifting shadow. Playfully nipping drafts played tag with exposed skin. The men's panting breaths came out silver, and their ears were flushed with cold. It seemed to the hunters as if time had stilled with them, that the tense seconds would never cease until their racing hearts had burst from their chests, sharpened swords and maces never be put to use, and dry bows never get to creak and bend.

Time laughed evilly and caught back up to them before they were ready. Forty-one sets of eyes narrowed, surprised and suddenly anxious, when the sound of horse hooves in the dust invaded the air.

Grondin had positioned his archers at the front of the army. They crouched in the lower branches of the trees, high enough to avoid being seen, but with a clearer view of the road than anyone else. When Arthur and his knights came into view they would await Grondin's signal. Bows creaked, arowstrings drew taught. The sounds vibrated like thunder in the ears of the hunters, during the last few hours they had made no noise louder than quickened breaths. The hoof beats were growing louder. Now men's voices meshed in and out of the steady thrum. The blood song roared in the veins of the hunters, louder and louder until it was deafening. The first red-cloaked knight came into view. Then the second, the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth. The hunters couldn't see their faces, but their scarlet capes clearly outlined each figure from the muted forest background behind them. Grondin waited, counted four even breaths, then let out a thrush's whistle. _Creak!_ Bows groaned as archers took their aim through the leaves. Camelot's knights slowed, wary from the incongruous sound amidst the silent patch of forest. Their hands slipped over the grips of their swords. Grondin let out a second whistle. Five arrows rocketed towards their targets, two skidding over the dirt, two piercing horses, who reared and nearly threw their riders. The last arrow flew true, thudding through the gaps in Sir Hugo's armour, piercing his heart. He was dead before his body hit the ground.

_Earlier that morning_

Sir Leon's group of knights had woken, stretching stiff muscles as they prepared to further abuse them by spending another day on the saddle. Sir Gwaine stirred the breakfast porridge, ladling out scoops into five earthenware bowls. The knights each quickly downed their hot rations, licking their bowls clean. Mordred then gathered them in a stack and carried them over to a nearby brook. He dutifully scrubbed each one with a handful of silt from the streambed before rinsing them in the flowing water. When he returned everyone was packed and ready to continue on the road again. Mordred slipped the bowls into the leather pouch hanging off his saddle and mounted. Leon clucked to his mare and the group surged forwards.

The morning had started off warm, but soon clouds had rolled in, jealousy hoarding the sun's warmth. In the chill Mordred wrapped his red cloak more snugly around his shoulders. It wasn't really that cold, but the knights' chainmail absorbed the cool breeze, becoming a frosty shirt that weighed down on the thin shift protecting their skin.

"What I wouldn't do for a warm fire, a soft bed, and a chance to get rid of this blasted chainmail! Thank goodness we'll be arriving at the castle today." Hugo whispered conspiratorially to Mordred. Mordred nodded, and shut his eyes, blissfully picturing the scene Hugo had described.

" _Hmmm."_ Hugo snickered, poking him in the ribs. "Hey!" But Hugo had already cantered out of reach, looking back to throw a devilish smirk. Mordred exaggerated rolling his eyes back at him.

The knights went on in silence. "Arthur" was still bobbing up and down to the gait of his horse, contrasting comically to the stoic knights surrounding him. The further they rode the colder and more unfriendly the forest seemed to become. Less and less wind rippled the branches, the shadows would freeze and then dart one way and then another, even though the animals seemed to have disappeared. Not even the drone of insects could be heard. The air was dry and stale, and Mordred coughed when it sucked the moisture from his throat. The feeling of wrongness in this part of the forest tensed every man's nerves and they were all eager to leave the place behind as soon as possible.

"Is all of Amata this… dead?" John's hushed question voiced all of their thoughts.

"When I was here years ago everything was alive and green. But now the drought seems to be much worse than the reports said," Leon answered. Mordred caught Hugo's eye and they shared a nervous glance. The knights picked up their pace a little, moving from a walk to a trot, every man straining to catch a glimpse of something that wasn't muted or gray on the horizon. It was then that they heard it. The thrush's call was so low that in the knights focus on the road they nearly missed it. John looked hopeful but Mordred felt less optimistic. Leon and Gwaine seemed to feel the same, eyebrows descending low enough to cast a shadow over their eyes. Leon slowed his pace and the rest of the knights followed suit, eyes and ears now warily exploring every shadow and crevice in the grey forest. The thrush called again. This time it didn't purely break the silence, but was a herald of attack! Arrows flew towards the knights and Mordred ducked instincivly, horror dawning on him. One arrow whipped past his face, but another implanted itself in his horse's flank. The mare whinnied and bucked, but then stumbled. Mordred was thrown forwards far enough to catch a glimpse of something lying on the road. In a second he was jerked backwards and then forwards again. The mare's eyes were rolling, and she tried to bolt forwards. Mordred frantically heaved at the reign's but the mare's last buck finally sent him sprawling, face first into the earth. Mordred felt himself collide with something. He raised his head and stared, horrified. Hugo was lying in the middle of the road, and arrow marking the beginning of the crimson river flowing from just below his shoulder. He was already dead, and the fight had only just begun.

Leon watched the soldiers swarm down from the trees like ants, small from this distance, but strong and numerously vast. Immediately knew Leon they were outnumbered. Instinctively his hand went to his belt and drew out a polished ivory horn. Raising it to his lips he inhaled, then stopped. The faces of his knights, his charges, his friends, whirled through his head. Another image came, the solemn face of his king, then it dissolved too. The people and lands of Camelot charged through his mind, memories trampling one another heedlessly in their rushing onslaught. Fear and duty were at war within him each clawing to gain an advantage. _Enough._ Leon tried to clear his head. _ENOUGH!_ Duty had won. The air rushed out of Sir Leon's lungs as he blew the horn, loud and clear over the fray. In this one breath he had warned their one chance of reinforcements, of rescue, to stay far, far away. The high, even note rang out, it's message echoing kilometers away. Around Leon swords had begun to clash, battle cries wailed, and a second body joined Sir Hugo lying still in the dirt. Far above it all the horn's melody carried and the hills sang.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The battle has begun… And now I am officially caught up! Now chapters will be out every other day (fingers crossed).

_Huuuuggggghhhhhhh!_ Arthur's and his men's heads all jerked up as one as the drone of Leon's horn washed over the forest like a river. Arthur felt the flavour of dread in his throat.

"Halt!" They all reigned in their horses and the group stood anxiously in the middle of the road. They all knew the meaning of the horn's call. Merlin, Gwaine, Elyan, William, and Dernhelm all glanced at each other, and then at Arthur. It was the king who would determine their next direction. The king, right now, was feeling just as uncertain and nervous as the rest of them. Obviously the first group was in mortal peril, and Leon had judged that if the second group kept riding and joined them they would be too. _Was it bandits? The Sarrum's army? Strange, evil creatures twisted by magic? Were his knights captured? Were any of them dead? Were they all dead?_ Arthur could feel the burden of time pressing on him, but he also knew he needed to think before he made a decision that, either way, could easily mean some of their deaths.

"Follow me!" Arthur abruptly spun his horse off the road, and led the knights and Merlin a few feet into the underbrush. He would take a few minutes to think, but at least they would be hidden.

Sir Elyan gave him a look when Arthur asked for some time alone to think, but he didn't openly contradict his sovereign. Instead Elyan gathered the knights and posted them in pairs creating a wide berth around the king. Arthur finally thought he was alone, but then he realized that Merlin had snuck up silently behind him. Arthur wasn't surprised, but he was still perturbed.

" _Mer_ lin, when someone asks for time to think they're usually not asking for a conversation!"

"Arthur I-"

"Would you just _shut up_ Merlin! Why will you never give me a moments peace! I just need time to think, _alone_ -" Arthur's voice broke and Merlin saw through to how distressed his king really was. Merlin tightened his jaw and walked away. He knew Arthur well enough to know that trying to share advice in this situation would only make things worse.

Merlin slipped through the trees. He was sure that the Sarrum was responsible for Leon's warning. He remembered that Mordred was with the other group, and for a moment he hoped that Arthur would decide to return to Camelot and let the Sarrum's men do the dirty work. Then The Once and Future King would finally be safe. Merlin shook his head. _How can I think such morbid thoughts! Leon, Gwaine, Percival, my friends are all in deathly peril. And Mordred, does he really deserve a fate such as that?_ Merlin's mind flashed the image he had seen of Morded stabbing Arthur in the crystal caves, and his throat closed at cold smirk on his face. _Is the future truly set in stone? Killgarah seems to think so, but I was once able to thwart Morgana and defy the vision I had seen of her killing Uther. Gaius said that, although difficult, one_ could _change the future… Regardless, we need to rescue them, but how? The Sarrum will be expecting that, there will be guards, and if I'm seen using magic… No. We will rescue them, Arthur will come home to Gwen. As long as that happens, as long as the others are safe, that's all that matters._ Merlin felt his steely resolve grip his bones. He would protect his king, his friend, no matter the cost.

When Arthur was sure the other knights couldn't see him he slumped onto a fallen log, head in his hands. As a king he was often faced with difficult decisions, and this one was one of the hardest he had ever had to make. He had no idea if his knights still lived, if they were fighting for their lives, or if they were all prisoners. Really he didn't know much of anything. Arthur knew that his value as a king meant that he should protect himself first and foremost, as well as the knights with him, and ride back to Camelot. He also knew that Elyan, at least, would probably refuse to return to Camelot, and go try to rescue his friends, alone if necessary. Merlin might join Elyan, or he might choose to stay with his king, Arthur wasn't sure. The faces of Sir Leon, Sir Gwaine, Sir Hugo, Sir John, and Sir Modred all flowed through his mind. To what kind of fate would he be willing to condemn his friends? Arthur sighed. He didn't know how he would live with himself if he abandoned his friends and ran away back to Camelot, but then there was also Gwen to think of. If he truly couldn't help the others would he risk needlessly making his wife a widow? And what about his child? Arthur had barely come to terms with the idea of becoming a father, and now would he let his unborn child determine his fate? He wanted to scream, he wanted to curl up and cry, he wanted to hand the crown over to someone else so that _he didn't have to be king!_ Why did he always have to be the one making difficult decisions, and then be the one who had to live with the consequences? Arthur tilted his head back to feel the breeze. He breathed in. he breathed out. He breathed in. he breathed out. He knew what he had to do.

Sir Leon's horn had now been drowned out by the growing roar of battle. Swords clashed, maces scraped over sheilds, and the mens' roars of fury were punctuated by screams of fear. _Whump!_ The spikes of a mace thudded into the ground inches from Mordred's face. He scrambled to his feet, sword in hand. His shield was gone, carried away by his fear-crazed horse. Mordred started again as the mace whipped through the air, ducking the blow and rolling away from the weapon. Tossing his curls out of his eyes he saw that his opponent was at least a foot taller than him, a broad shouldered man, scars crisscrossing themselves over his biceps. His torso was wrapped in strips of leather, each piece held together by bronze studs. His arms were covered by bronze bracers and five spiked bronze rings encircled each of his fingers. His face was concealed by a tarnished helmet, a plume of dyed-green horse hair spouting out of it's top.

Mordred could feel the fear building in his chest. This wasn't the first time he had faced death at the hands of another who had a distinct advantage over him, but, as always, the spine chilling terror was still there. He raised his sword, fighting the crashing waves of fear. The soldier bore down on him again, his hand raised, mace's spiked ball circling. Mordred was about to duck out of the way again, but suddenly he realized that through his magic he could feel the roots of one of the great trees snaking just below the ground. It was incredibly risky, but Mordred didn't have many options. He ducked away from the mace again, and when his head was lowered his eyes flashed gold and one of the roots heaved itself out of the earth. The soldier's foot caught and he collided with the ground letting out a muffled grunt. Mordred was so shaken from his near escape, and amazed at what he had managed to do, that he didn't hear the heavy footsteps close in on him from behind. Another ringed hand cracked against his skull, leaving bloody gashes through his hair. The soldier bore down on Mordred's fallen, unconscious body, sword raised.

Grondin had stayed behind in the trees during the battle. He did not consider himself to be a coward (no coward could ever manage to climb the ranks into Morgana's favour) however, the sweet promise of his stewardship wasn't a taste easily forgotten. He would never get to see the fall of the Sarrum or the rise of his lady over Camelot and Amata if he died frivolously fighting in a skirmish like this. Besides, his knights far outnumbered those of Camelot. It was only a matter of time before they were defeated. Grondin was feeling rather smug of his flawless plan when he noticed something that made him pause. _Where was the king?_ Although he had never seen the man the Sarrum had given him a thorough description. The Camelot's knights had ridden by encircling a sixth horse, upon whom Grondin assumed King Arthur had been riding. However, now he saw no such man in the fray, and then he noticed the dummy. It was ripped in half, straw stuffing protruding like a million golden spikes, but the blond, woolen wig still clung to it's head. Grondin panicked. It had all been a ruse! The king had never been there, and wherever he was now that horn call the blond, curly-haired knight had sounded probably had him running in the opposite direction. Grondin had hoped to not have to be bothered with prisoners besides Arthur, but now he believed he had no other options. One of the Camelot knights was already dead from their first attack, so there were only four left. He clamoured down to the edge of the battle, adrenaline pumping his voice out and over the fray. "Kill no one! We need prisoners!" Grondin saw, satisfied, that he had been heard when a burly knight who was standing over an unconscious Camelot knight, stopped his killing stroke on mid air. Instead he seized said knight by his hair and dragged him with one hand towards another fight. His other hand groped his belt until he drew out a small knife.

Sir Gwaine was facing off one of the leaner Amata knights, but the speed of this knight's sinewy muscles was evenly matched against Gwaine's greater strength. He was at least a decade older than Gwaine, and his skills boasted years of experience. Gwaine parried the onslaught of blows, but managed to add a few sharp thrusts of his own. The soldier pulled back, circling him like a lion, looking for an opening. Gwaine watched him, blinking from the sweat dripping into his eyes and widened his stance. The soldier took a feigned step to the left and then in a split second charged to the right. He was halfway to Gwaine when another figure barreled into him from the side, knocking the soldier to the ground. Gwaine looked up gratefully to the face of his rescuer, expecting to see Sir Leon or even Sir John. It was neither. Another leather-clad knight rose up in front of him, except he didn't attack like Gwaine expected. Gwaine realized his hands were already occupied. His gaze turned down to see a white-faced Mordred, head jerked back by the hand wrapped through his hair, and a wickedly sharp knife was pressed against his throat. The unspoken ultimatum was obvious. _Do you surrender?_ Sir Gwaine dropped his sword.

Grondin stared at the captive knights. Of the five that had ridden into the ambush one was dead, his body still lying in the road. Another had escaped, only Grondin had no idea how he had managed it. The other three were bound, the youngest lying in the dust, unconscious. He sneered at the two men who had been forced to their knees, and were glaring at him. Grondin stepped within a foot of them.

"Which of you commands?" Neither man answered. Grondin had been expecting this so he turned away from them and then unexpectedly delivered a swift kick to Mordred's ribs, from where he laid on the ground. "Don't tell me it's this _boy?_ " Grondin saw the men's eyes widen slightly, in concern for their comrade, but they still kept silent. Grondin sighed. He would have to do this the hard way. He brought his foot back to kick Mordred again.

"Stop!" The blond curly-haired knight yelled. Grondin concealed a smile. He knelt down so he was eye level with Sir Leon. "So you're the one who knows the secret of your vanished king." Grondin paused, tapping his chin in an exaggerated show of thoughtfulness. "You may command your men, but they seem to also be your friends. Your care for your knights will not be forgotten." Grondin stood up and turned to the soldier next to him. "We camp here tonight, but don't get too comfortable. We may well yet have a real chase ahead of us. Make sure these three stay guarded at all times, and have someone ride out to the army. I want the dogs here within the hour. Also, tell the army that their Lord has given them the order to march and meet us at this point." The soldier saluted his commander, and left to carry out his orders. Grondin turned to spread the word to his other knights that they would camp here tonight. He thought he had finished everything, but something on the side of the road caught his eye. The body of the dead knight of Camelot had been dragged to the side of the road, while other knights were busy burying their three fallen comrades. He marched over to them.

"Bury this one with ours. He was still a loyal soldier."

Once his tent had been pitched Grondin shooed the soldiers away and sat down on his thin bed. He needed some time to think and plan out his next move. He realized that taking the knights prisoner had been a wise idea on two fronts; they would be a source of information, as well as extra insurance, along with the king, to keep Camelot from attempting a rescue. _The King._ Grondin knew that Arthur could be riding back to Camelot at this very second, and if he was Grondin should be out chasing him instead of sitting here. But some sort of sixth sense made him pause. Arthur was known for his extraordinary love for his knights. Grondin would be extremely surprised if the king had abandoned his knights to certain death. More likely, he would create some sort of plan to rescue them, or at least try and find out what had happened. Grondin knew that he could probably force Arthur's captain into revealing Arthur's plans, but to do that he would need the young knight, and he was still unconscious. Grondin wasn't sure how bad his concussion was, and he didn't want to risk going too far. It was too important to keep all the knights alive. The other knight, the long haired, muscled one, still had a day's journey ahead of him before they made it to the castle, so beating him was also out of the question. However, the captain would still have no idea what his king had done after he had blown his horn, so in the end he would still only be of limited use. That was where the dogs entered his plan. Grondin hadn't taken them with him initially because his attack had relied on stealth, and the dogs would have not been able to stay still and silent during the hours they had waited in the forest. No, instead he had left them with his army of foot soldiers. Grondin focused on the sounds outside the tent. Yes,he could hear barking now so the dogs must have arrived. Grondin sighed and braced his hands on his knees as he stood up. It was time to make a decision.

It was early afternoon based on the sun, and Grondin squinted at the sudden brightness that greeted him. His captains sat in a circle talking nearby. He came over and sat down among them, sharing his plan.

"King Arthur can't have been too far behind this lot. I may not know the king but I know that he cares for his knights. I'm sure that he was staying near them, probably with some sort of escort. He definitely was a part of this outing, the horn call confirmed that. Arthur would have to have been close enough to hear the horn call, so that puts him at a maximum of two kilometers away." Grondin's captains were nodding, so he continued. "I also believe that Arthur is not the kind of king who would abandon his knights to save himself. Based on his character he will at least try and figure out what happened" Grondin slapped his hand on the log he sat on, "and that is where we'll catch him! Once the army arrives to watch our current prisoners we will take the dogs to go search for him down the road."

"And what if he is not as brave as you seem to think? If Arthur is running back to Camelot, tail between his legs, what will we do then?" One of Grondin's captains challenged him bravely.

"Then we will fail." Grondin growled back. "But I won't rest until I hold Camelot's king in my grasp, and I suggest all of you do the same."

When the army arrived Grondin gave some hurried orders to it's commander regarding the prisoners. No one was to lay a finger on them until he returned, and they were to be given only a little food and water. Then Grondin leapt up on his horse and led his forty mounted warriors barreling down the road, dogs howling at their heels. They hadn't gone far when the dogs stopped following the horses, baying and snuffling at a little ways behind them on the road. Grondin wheeling his mount around and followed the dogs, who wagged their tails as they led the group off the road and into the forest.

 


	9. Chapter Eight: Man’s Best Friend, King’s Worst Enemy

Arthur, Merlin, the knights were making their way stealthily through the forest. Their progress was painfully slow, but Arthur was extremely aware that any extra noise they made in haste could ultimately mean their deaths. All he wanted was to find out what had happened to the others and then retreat far enough away to form a plan. They had left their horses tethered back where Arthur had stopped to think after hearing the horn call. This was because this part of the forest was unfortunately think with brambles and branches, making riding impossible. Arthur and the knights had to constantly circle around snarls of thorns and brambles instead of hacking through them as they normally would, to stay quiet. Merlin cast a few subtle spells to muffle their footsteps and part a few tangles of brambles, but was careful not to overdo it and arouse suspicion. After some of their larger detours Arthur began to realize that he was no longer sure how far away the road was, or how far they had gone. He paused, casting a glance to the men behind him. By the looks on their faces they felt the same way. Arthur couldn’t believe it. They were lost.  

 

The dogs charged through brambles, thorns, and thickets as the knights of Amata struggled to keep up. The forest was growing increasingly more and more thick with underbrush the deeper they went. Grondin was doing his best to focus on maintaining a sense of direction through their convoluted route. His thoughts were also turning towards his knights as they struggled to move through such a constricted space, but then the dogs started howling louder than ever. Grondin grinned. They must be getting close. 

 

_ Ooooowwwwww!  _ Arthur spun around to listen to the noise.  _ Was it wolves? Were they being hunted?  _ Arthur would have been surprised if a pack of wolves would choose to go after a group of five knights, but when the first dog burst into view he realized exactly what was going on.

“Run!” They bolted. Arthur knew that they had a chance of escaping the notice of human eyes and ears, but none of them could hide the scent trail that would lead the snarling hounds straight to any hiding place they might find.  

 

Grondin heard a voice calling “Run!” and knew that he had found his quarry. 

“Faster men! We’ve found them!” The soldiers surged onwards with renewed strength, slashing and tearing through the underbrush. 

 

Arthur ran wildly, constantly looking over his shoulder for his knights. The frenzy of their run and the thickness of the forest had split them up, despite all their efforts to stay together. He couldn’t see anyone through the trees so he continued on, hoping to catch a glimpse of them further up. Finally, Elyan and Percival came up from his left. Gasping Arthur stopped running for a split second and grasped Elyan’s hand. He grinned and then they resumed their race through the entangling branches. Arthur squinted as he looked up ahead. Light! There was light ahead! That must mean the branches would thin out! They went on, faster than ever. 

Arthur burst out of the dense forest into the light, Elyan and Percival at his heels. He closed his eyes for a moment but Percival’s dismayed cry startled him. The forest had thinned out indeed, and so had the ground. They were at the top of a sheer cliff.  

 

Arthur couldn’t believe his luck. It seemed that since he had left Camelot it had seemed that everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong. From where he, Elyan, and Percival stood they were about fifteen meters away from the edge of the cliff. The forest circled the small opening like a net. In all it was an effective trap. In seconds the knights of Amata were upon them, swords and maces whirling while savage dogs snarled and lunged at their legs. Arthur sliced one of them in the muzzle, and it backed down with a whimper. Just as quickly another knight appeared in the dog’s place and Arthur started fighting two men at once. All Arthur could see around him was the onsurge of warriors quickly filling the tight clearing. He thought of Merlin, and hoped beyond hope that his manservant had managed to escape somewhere back in the forest. Gwaine and Percival were also fighting multiple men at once, their swords slashing and whirling, but they all fought a losing battle. None of them had a chance against these kinds of odds. They were outnumbered more than ten to one and Arthur was quickly being pushed back against the cliff’s edge. In a sneak attack two knights jumped on him from behind, their combined effort wrestling Arthur to the ground. His sword arm became twisted at a painful angle under the weight of thrashing limbs and Arthur helplessly felt it being wretched from his grasp. The knights had made a circle around him and their tall bodies were blocking out the sun. Arthur couldn’t think, he couldn’t breath.  _ Is this how I will die?  _ The thought was there and then it flickered out. Arthur wasn’t sure if it was the lack of oxygen that was causing the blackness that was creeping over his vision, or just a lack of light. Faintly he could hear muffled voices shouting orders. “Bind his arms!” “Here!” “Stay away from the edge!” but they quickly faded out too.

Merlin ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Branches and thorns scraped his face, arms, and legs, but he didn’t slow. Fear pressed itself to his chest and made his legs pump faster. He could hear the rabid snarling of the dogs combined with the mens’ cries as he plunged deeper and deeper into the forest. Eventually the sounds had begun to fade and Merlin let himself slow for a second. He stared at the forest around him from where he stood, panting, and searched for any king of landmark, or indication of the direction of the forest’s edge. Merlin tried to feel around the area near him with his magic, trying to sense anything that might give him a clue to his whereabouts, but all he could sense was more and more forest. His magic brushed something behind him that might have been an animal, but as Merlin turned to look he realized he was too late. Something whistled and Merlin felt a sharp pain in his back. He stumbled, and tried to clear his head but his vision was rapidly growing fuzzy. Merlin tried to take a wobbling step forwards but his leg could no longer support his weight and he crashed to the ground. He tried to sink his trembling fingers into the earth, to keep a grip on reality as the darkness closed in.  _ No! Have to rescue knights, have to protect Arthur, Sarrum, danger, Arthur, arthur…  _

 

The two knights who had been chasing Merlin stooped over their prize. The first knight had rushed over to Merlin’s body, excited, but when he had realized that the man wasn’t the king, or even a knight, he snorted in disgust and disappointment.

“He’s a servant. Might as well kill him now and save the hassle of hauling another prisoner to the Sarrum.” The knight reached for his sword, but the other knight quickly stopped him. 

“No! We still don’t know if the king has been captured. If he does escape then this servant could prove to be valuable, for information or as a hostage. Besides, Lord Grondin said to kill no one, and I would rather not risk his wrath.” The knight could see he was winning his argument, and he added one last point. “Anyways, I want to see how the poison reacts with him.” The other knight conceded and the second knight plucked the needle-thin dart from Merlin’s back. Together they lifted Merlin off the ground and bore him out of the forest. 

“What did you hit him with anyways?”

“A little concoction I whipped up. It should have him out for half an hour with no side effects. At least… that’s the idea.” The two were panting through their conversation. Even though their burden was fairly light they wove a rigorous route through the brambles.

“We could have used this to bring all of them down! Why didn’t you mention it earlier?” 

“It hasn’t been officially approved yet, and I’ve had no chance to test it on a human. When I heard about our mission I tucked one dart and a hollow shooting-log in my pouch before we left. I figured it would be fine to test it out on the servant.” The knight shrugged as best he could while holding Merlin’s legs. 

“Humph. Suppose you’re right. Although I’ll not keep mum if Lord Grondin gets angry when he gets sick or something.” The other knight looked worriedly at Merlin, trying to will him to be alright. At this point there was nothing he could do besides wait.      


	10. Chapter Nine: Watch Over Me as I Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now that I’ve plunged half my characters into blissful unconsciousness I guess I had better go wake them up.

 

Arthur was floating pleasantly on the edge of consciousness. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining the feeling of scratchy ropes being drawn tight around his wrists, but he ignored it anyhow and folded himself back into the pleasant blackness. He had almost drifted fully away when a strange thought shook him.  _ Why weren’t his knights with him? What happened to Percival and Elyan? Where was Merlin? Ah yes, there had been a fight… A fight!  _ Arthur remembered struggling against the soldiers, there had been too many to see Percival or Elyan. They had been separated...  _ I need to find out if they’re alright!  _ Arthur tried to kick through the layers of blackness surrounding him. He could see light above him and struggled to reach it. Arthur could feel himself moving upwards when a soft, crooning voice wrapped itself around him.  _ Your friends are fine. Stop worrying and stay here. Enjoy the sweet blackness! Rest!  _ Arthur shook himself free of the voice and kept pushing upwards.  _ No, there’s no time to lose! They’re in danger! We’re all in danger!  _ Sunlight burst in his eyes as they blinked open. Arthur heaved one great shuddering breath after another. He realized he was lying across something warm and tried to push himself up, only to find that his wrists were bound behind him. Quickly, Arthur realized that he was, apparently, moving. He was lying strapped across the back of a horse. He craned his neck, scanning side to side. Arthur could see Elyan and Percival, dripping sweat, stumbling along behind him, their bound wrists attached by a long cord extending to their own horses.  _ Merlin! Where’s Merlin?  _ Arthur saw, with partial relief, that Merlin was also bound to a horse, and that he was unconscious. Arthur tried to wiggle out of the ropes binding him, but to no avail. However this mouvement alerted the knight riding in front him.

“The King’s awake!” His loud cry echoed painfully in Arthur’s ears. He heard a deep voice respond, but couldn’t see the face it belonged to.

“Good! You didn’t squash him too flat then.” Another voice added, 

“We’re nearly to the camp, it should only be a few more minutes.”  Arthur vaguely wondered how far they had already come and where they were going.  _ Would Sir Leon and the rest of the knights be there? _ It was hard to concentrate through the light headedness that was creeping back over him.  

It had probably only been a couple minutes but to Arthur it felt like an hour. His head ached and his ears rang from having been upside down for so long. He fought to keep control of his senses; he needed to be awake once they arrived. 

The king, knights, and servant perked up a little when the sounds of men’s voices, horses, and the smell of boiling stew floated over to them from around the corner of the road. Merlin had woken up only a minute after Arthur, albeit still feeling a bit groggy. The group turned a corner and Arthur caught glimpses of a host of green cloaked men standing, eating, talking and laughing with one another. Tents were pitched all around the road and multiple firepits had been constructed for cooking supper. Unfortunately Arthur’s view of the camp was obstructed by the boot and stirrup hanging near his face, as well as the horse’s shaggy mane. Although he tried he wasn’t able to see any of the other knights of Camelot as they ride into the camp.

 

Grondin proudly lead his band back to the camp. The horses cantered forwards, heedless of the men frantically jumping out of their way. Grondin slowed and dismounted when he spotted one of his commanders. The man strode up to greet his captain, saluting. 

“Make sure these men are watched carefully, or it will be your hide I’ll drag back to the throne of the Sarrum.” The man nodded. Grondin knew that all his commanders were excellent and would never slack off an order, but he liked to maintain a healthy fear in them. “Same rules apply as for the others. No one is to lay so much as a finger on them, and they will be given minimal food and water. Keep the two groups separate, I don’t want them to think they can start scheming together.” The commander nodded stiffly, and summoned another group of soldiers who grabbed hold of Percival and Elyan, and hoisted Arthur and Merlin off their horses. The captives struggled but hunger, thirst, and the day’s constant exertion had finally caught up to them. They were wrestled towards a few trees growing close to the road, and a cord extending from their wrists was wrapped around the trunks. Five stern men stood guard around them. 

Arthur was feeling much more awake than he had been minutes ago. He glanced at Merlin, Percival, and Elyan, thankful beyond belief that they were all still alive. He also knew that there were other prisoners being held in the camp, that much had been clear from what the deep-voiced man had said. Arthur suspected it was Leon’s group. He realized that Merlin was eyeing him worridley. He tried to smile a bit for his sake. 

“I’m fine, really.” The words grated more than Arthur thought they would have. 

“You really scared us there Arthur. You too Merlin.” Elyan whisphered. “One second we were separated during the fight, and then the next they were strapping you to the back of a horse. Then they brought up Merlin a minute later and did the same to him. We were starting to wonder if either of you were going to wake up.” 

“I think the others are here Arthur.” Percival spoke up and Arthur nodded. 

“I heard him too.”

“What do you-” 

“ _ Shhh! _ ” One of the guards had heard their whispered conversation. The captives fell silent. 

 

       Thankfully for Merlin the drug he had been shot with had had the desired effects. It was perhaps the first strike of luck he had experienced so far. Merlin had woken up a half hour after he had been shot, and he wasn’t experiencing any side effects. By now it was late, although none of the captives were asleep, and thoughts of escape whirled through Merlin’s head. He was pretty confident that he could escape by himself, but he would never leave the others behind. Even though Merlin was sure his magic could blast through the guards standing vigil he wasn’t confident all of them would be able to escape.  None of the captives were armed, the dogs were still at the camp, and Merlin wasn’t sure how he would manage to keep his magic hidden from Arthur and the knights if he did try to free them. What if someone put a knife to one of his friends’s throats and forced him to surrender? Then the Sarrum would find out he had magic! Merlin had to fight the fear that crept up at these thoughts. Even though he had told himself over and over again that as long as Arthur was safe it didn’t matter what happened to him, Merlin still felt sick whenever he thought of falling into the Sarrum’s clutches with his secret revealed. He was paralyzed. He couldn’t see any good way out of their situation. But, the thought struck him, there at least was one helpful thing he could do. 

**Mordred? Are you there?** 

**Emrys!** Merlin felt Mordred’s excitement and then stricken realization. **You were captured as well? Is the King with you? And the rest of the knights?**

**Yes, Arthur, Percival, Elyan and I were all captured. I don’t know what happened to Dernhelm, William, Ronan or Gavin. Who is with you?** Mordred paused and Merlin feared the worst. 

**Sir Leon and Sir Gwaine are with me. Sir John escaped, though I don’t know what happened to him. Sir Hugo he… he was shot with an arrow. He’s dead.** 

**I’m sorry Mordred.**

**Hmm… So am I.**     

 

Grondin tramped into his tent, stripping off pieces of uncomfortable armour and stuffing it into the boxes around the tent. He breathed deeply, a wild smile growing. His plan had worked. He had captured the king and his knights, and tomorrow he would present them to the Sarrum. He washed his face in the earthenware bowl in the tent and stepped out, ready to join his commanders as they prepared supper. Stewed rations would never taste so wonderful. 

 

Gwaine and Leon were startled when they heard the commotion start at the edge of the camp. It grew louder but the men’s shouts weren’t of fear, they were of victory. They heard the clatter of pounding horse hooves canter through the camp, followed by a familiar, evil voice. 

_ “Make sure these men are watched carefully, or it will be your hide I’ll be dragging to the throne of the Sarrum.”  _ Leon and Gwaine both knew who the voice was talking about. Arthur had been captured. 

The group would return to the castle the following day. Until then the fires burned bright against the darkening sky, the smell of stew made the captive’s bellies rumble, and a few joyous shouts were heard when a bottle of ale was discovered amongst the soldiers. The men guarding the knights rotated every hour, and slowly the crowds of men thinned, as, yawning, they slipped one by one into their tents to sleep. By the time the sky was fully dark only half the number of men remained. Under normal circumstances Gwaine would be formulating a plan of escape now that so many men had left. However, he, Leon, and Mordred were all bound to a tree with thick, tight ropes, and Mordred was still unconscious. Gwaine sighed softly. He and Leon were both worried about the boy, considering that he hadn’t woken up yet. Neither of them had any idea how to treat a head wound, and they had no way to do much for it anyhow. Trying to make him as comfortable as possible Gwaine had rested Mordred’s head in his lap, but now all he could do was wait. 

 

Despite their best efforts Gwaine and Leon both drifted off to sleep around one o’clock in the morning. Only the men on guard duty and the men patrolling the camp were still outside. Mordred shifted as he laid on the ground, blearily opening his eyes. His head pounded, but he managed to keep his eyes open in the dark. He realized, with surprise, that his head was in Gwaine’s lap. The man had fallen asleep, his head lying on his shoulder, snoring softly. Mordred tried to sit up but the movement was too much. He slumped back down and couldn’t help the moan that escaped him. Gwaine jerked awake. 

“Mordred?” The boy smiled wanly up at him. Leon yawned and blinked. 

“Mordred! How do you feel?” Mordred tried to shrug, but it took too much effort. 

“Like I was run over by a horse.” Gwaine choked out a laugh, tears forming. Mordred yawned and blinked sleepily, closing his eyes. Gwaine placed a hand on his forehead. 

“Sleep well Mordred.” Tears slipped down his face.        

 


	11. Chapter Ten: Don’t Forget to Wash Behind Your Ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things I hope to maintain in this story is holding on to elements of realism in a world full of magic. It’s forced me to put myself in Arthur’s shoes and think about all the details of what it would be like to be a hostage in a forgein kingdom. A big part of this chapter came out of that thought process, and to be honest, it was pretty fun to write!   
> So between moving and vacations I won’t be updating for a little more than a week starting on Friday. Hopefully I will make up for this with some extra chapters when I get back.

The next morning Grondin packed his own necessities quickly and then left the camp early with his forty knights, leaving the rest of the foot soldiers behind to clean up and return to the castle at their own pace. He would need to be fast if he was to present himself and the prisoners to the Sarrum before dinner, as he hoped to do. That way the Sarrum would be in his best mood and Grondin would still have time to compose a letter to Morgana before it got too late.

Each of the prisoners was attached to a horse by a long cord encircling their wrists and necks. He had permitted that they be given a little extra food and water that morning so their pace wouldn’t slow the group over much. He had also been relieved to see that the youngest knight had woken, although Grondin often looked back to keep an eye on him, ready to order one of his knights to carry him if he looked like he would faint. Grondin still cared about spending the effort to keep all the knights alive while they were his prisoners. 

That morning Leon and Gwaine had gently woken Mordred, and, with their bound hands, helped his to stand. Gwaine felt a surge of afronteded anger as the three had been approached by knights holding long strands of cord. It took all Gwiane’s self control to keep his burning indignance in check as the knights of Amata had bound a cord around his neck and attached it to his hands. Feeling the coarse rope had reminded him briefly of his time spent as a slave in Ismere.  _ They had escaped from Morgana, and they would escape from the Sarrum.  _ Gwaine saw that Leon and Mordred didn’t offer any more resistance than he did, however, he could see their stony faces and Leon’s throbbing jaw muscle. When the knights, Arthur, and Merlin had all been brought together that morning and tied to the horses, there had been much mutual relief when they all saw that everyone was unharmed. 

Sweat dripped from all the captive’s brows as they ran behind the horses, and Gwaine thanked all the days of brutal training he had suffered in Camelot. They had saved his life before, and now it would seem they would do it again. Gwaine glanced worridley at Merlin, and then at Mordred. Merlin seemed to be keeping up with the others despite his leaner frame. Gwaine had always been impressed by the man’s resilience, and today was just another example of his perseverance. Mordred was also keeping up, although his face was growing paler and his eyes were squeezed shut against the utter exhaustion he faced. Gwaine grit his teeth, but made his decision.  

“ _ Stop _ ! We need to rest.” A few knights did reign in their horses, startled by Gwaine’s shout. Others growled at him, but surprisingly their captain complied with his demand, ordering a halt. Gwaine felt very satisfied when Mordred shot him a grateful look, and slumped down to sit. It was short lived however. Gwaine’s eyes narrowed when the captain strode over, hissing as he towered over him, 

“Don’t think for a second that you have any control over what happens here, Camelot scum. I do what suits me, and next time it may suit me to teach you a lesson.” He left Gwaine and went over to Mordred. Grondin bent down and grasped the young knight’s chin, forcing his sagging head up. The captain seemed to come to a mental decision and barked at the knight riding the horse Mordred was attached to, 

“Bind his elbows and wrists behind him! This one rides behind you the rest of the way.”      

 

The castle was starting to draw near by midmorning. In two hours they would reach the gates. The knights of Amata rode tirelessly onwards, probably eager to return to the soft beds and luxuries of their personal chambers, as well as enjoy the delights of the royal kitchens. Grondin grudgingly admired the strength and tenacity of the king, his servants and his knights as they ran behind his knights, not uttering a word. 

 

The gate opened with a loud _klang!_ Lord Grondin and his knights clattered into the walled town that sat at the foot of the castle of Amata. They wound their way through the marketplace towards the door of the castle. Peasants, servants, merchants, lords, and ladies all gawked and pointed, talking excitedly as the commanding war-leader lead his knights to the castle, victorious. They muttered amongst themselves about the prisoners, noting their chain mail and realizing they must be captured knights of another kingdom. Grondin didn’t pay any heed to the gossip going on below him. He was purely focused on reaching his destination. Soon the group had left the marketplace and passed the second set of gates that lead into the castle grounds. Ten servant women were waiting for them in the walled courtyard. From here Grondin left the prisoners in the hands of the women and three of his knights. All the others he dismissed to return to their chambers. He ordered the three knights to guard the prisoners while the women made sure they were presentable. Appearing dust-covered and dirty in front of a forgein monarch would not only be an insult to the King of Camelot’s pride, but it would also look bad on Lord Grondin. Obviously Grondin cared about his own self image, but he had gathered enough respect for Camelot’s king to treat him, and his knights and servant, with dignity. Grondin took his leave to return to his own quarters in the castle. Being alone and able to relax he took some time to change, wash himself, hurriedly shave, and run a comb through his hair.

 

The captives gazed around them, taking in the sights of the unfamiliar, but very grand castle. Suddenly they were being ushered down a stone path and through a side door by a group of clucking women, followed by three of the knights of Amata. They entered an open room where towels, brushes, buckets, and soap stood stacked against one wall, and five tubs of steaming water filled half the room. The knights of Amata slit the captives’ bonds, sure now that they wouldn’t try to escape; there was nowhere to go. Silently they receded into the corners of the room. Now that the knight’s presence was less noticable the women surged forwards, taking control of the situation. They surrounded the captives, sympathetic gleams in their eyes when they saw the red marks the ropes had left on their wrists and necks. Some of the women whispered and muttered to one another, while others were too shy to say anything in the presence of strange, forgien men. The woman attending to Merlin waved her hand in his face to get his attention. 

“Lift up your arms,” Merlin complied and she managed to tug off his shirt even though she was shorter than he was. Merlin noticed the other women doing the same to Arthur and the other knights. If the circumstances had been different he would have laughed. Even so, it was still quite funny to watch two ladies wrestle Percival out of his shirt. The woman grabbed Merlin’s arm, steering him towards the baths. With a pointed finger she ordered him to climb in and Merlin had a sudden memory of his mother doing the same thing many times throughout his childhood. He got into the tub, yelping at the burn of the hot water. The woman just crossed her hands and raised an unsympathetic eyebrow. He soon adjusted to the temperature, enjoying the soothing water. The woman returned with soap and a brush and set to scrubbing his hair, and thoroughly cleaning his scalp, neck, and every crevice of his ears. She then handed him the soap and Merlin scrubbed his torso under her hawk-eyed gaze. When she was satisfied she offered him a towel and Merlin stepped out of the tub, shivering, his soaked trousers clinging to his legs. He could see his friends in similar stages of bathing, however, his eye drew to the corner of the room where Mordred was obstinately refusing to take off his shirt. 

Gwaine noticed this too, and unable to help his friend without drawing unwanted attention to him Gwaine focused on drawing the knights’ attention to himself instead. He laughed loudly, splashed the water a bit, and even started to sing a bawdy chorus. For the moment it worked and the knights paid little heed to Mordred who was on the other side of the room. However, when the knights realized Gwaine was only trying to make a bit of harmless rukus one spoke with the other two and then left the room. Arthur shot Gwaine a look, but when he saw the serious expression on Gwaine’s face he turned away. 

The girl who had approached Mordred was slightly younger than him, and she seemed very shy and demure. Without looking at his face she asked him to remove his shirt. When Mordred didn’t comply she raised her head sharply, uncertain of what to do. Mordred bit his lip. He glanced at the knights watching from the corner of the room, and knew that he couldn’t reveal his tattoo, but also didn’t want to draw undue attention to himself. If he refused to do as she requested the knights might think he was hiding something and search him, where they would certainly find his tattoo. Mordred could see he didn’t have many options at the moment. His only hope was to be as subtle as possible. He whispered to the girl, 

“I have a deformity on the front of my shoulder. It makes me very uncomfortable to show it to anyone, would it be alright to take my shirt off after I enter the tub?” The girl’s face reddened at being addressed so directly. Mordred bit his lip again. He knew the request was slightly absurd coming from a prisoner who obviously had more pressing issues than his own vanity, but the girl seemed uncertain enough that she gave him a quick nod, and he walked over to the tub, and slipped off his shirt once he was covered by the water. She accepted the sopping garment wordlessly and took it over to the back of the room, dropping it on a shelf and returning with soap and a towel. Mordred couldn’t help the blush that rose in his face as she started scrubbing his thick, curly hair. He tried to sink further in the water, but a hissed “Stay still!” stopped him. When the girl finished she passed him the soap and Mordred reached to take it but her hand had become frozen around the bar. She turned sharp eyes on him and Mordred swallowed a lump in his throat.  _ She had noticed his tattoo.  _ A dawning look of understanding crossed her face, as she realized the reason for his odd behavior. Mordred tried to look at her with his most pleading expression. A hint of compassion softened the girl’s face and she looked at Mordred with something akin to pity. Now she loosened her grip on the soap and as Mordred took it she whispered, 

“You have enough troubles already. I won’t add to them.” Mordred ducked his head in thanks and began scrubbing himself, careful to keep his whole torso underwater. When he had finished she fetched Mordred’s shirt and he slipped it on before he rose from the water. As the last of the captives finished toweling off the knight who had left minutes earlier returned, seven pairs of manacles dangling from his hands. Immediately the atmosphere of the room sobered, everyone reminded of the grim fate facing the men. The knights clamped the manacles around the wrists of the prisoners and escorted them from the room, bringing them to stand in an inner courtyard where the blazing sun would quickly dry their wet hair and clothes. Once they were dry soldiers and some knights started to stream into the courtyard, Lord Grondin following them. He grinned at his captives, and addressed Arthur. 

“Now your time has come to kneel at the feet of the Sarrum.” He yelled at his knights, “Move! Get them to the Great Hall.” The prisoners were hustled through bending hallways of the castle, amidst the surprised gasps of servants, until they reached two great oaken doors.   

  
  



	12. Chapter Eleven: Unbroken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to mention this earlier, but I forgot. Dialogue using **absbdjdkn ** is telepathy.

The tense silence was broken by the loud announcer’s call as two guards heaved the creaking doors open.  

“Presenting Lord Grondin and his knights, Sir Erith, Sir Markswain, Sir Forsythe, Sir Anderson, and Sir Wiglard. He presents to his Royal Majesty King Arthur of Camelot, his knights, and… servant.”

Grondin marched at the head of the procession, his knights just behind him, followed by the guards leading Arthur, Merlin, and the knights of Camelot. Unlike the last time Lord Grondin was in audience with the Sarrum the great hall was flooded with people. Lords, ladies, musiciens, jesters, and all sorts of members of the court were standing along the walls. Grondin assumed they had all been anticipating his arrival with the king of Camelot. Some craned their necks to gawk at the captives while others were more composed, disguising their interest with sideways glances and raised eyebrows. The great hall was filled with whispers and gasps, and the men of Camelot had the uncomfortable impression of feeling like oddities on display. Arthur and Sir Leon suppressed their feelings, and marched forwards, eyes straight ahead. Sir Percival gaze glanced around until he settled on starting at the floor a few feet in front of him. Sir Gwaine and Sir Elyan tightened their jaws, and raised their heads proudly, boldly staring back at the onlookers. Mordred tried to control the heat and the fear that rose in his face. He opted to stare at the ground. Merlin also felt the fear rising in himself as he approached the man who would undoubtedly unleash great cruelty on him if he knew what Merlin was. Merlin guessed Mordred felt the same way. He felt the curious eyes of the onlookers, and their unspoken question hovering in the air. Why take a servant hostage? What possible use could he be? Merlin kept his eyes fixed on the back of Arthur’s head, and set his face into the same hard line as his king.

Grondin reached the base of the throne and knelt. The procession halted behind him and a hush fell over the great hall.

“Rise Lord Grondin.” Grondin stood and was surprised when the Sarrum himself rose out of his throne and gestured with open arms at the crowd. “This day Lord Grondin has distinguished himself above all others by setting an example of what it means to serve his sovereign. Lord Grondin has not only won a battle for Amata, he has taken prisoner a naive autocrat and his followers. Now the lands of Camelot are free to benefit those who truly deserve to profit by them. And today those innocents who have suffered while a boy king has glutted himself on the fruits of his father’s land are free-” Arthur’s clear voice rang around the chamber, cutting off the Sarrum’s speech.

“I will not try to defend myself against such a prejudiced judge, Sarrum. But know this: your actions today have cost the blood of loyal soldiers and before this is over even more blood will be spilt because today you committed an act of war. Love is what roots Camelot to her land and if you march your armies over her borders you wage war not only against her knights, but every farmer will take up his pitchfork and his wife will wield her shovel to defend their homes. And even on the day you are victorious in battle the soil will be so full of the blood of the innocents that it will yield nothing to your murderous hands!” The hearts of the captives all rose as they raised their heads proudly.

“Lord Grondin,” seethed the Sarrum, “Take the prisoners to their cells and make sure to teach this arrogant pup a lesson about humility!” Grondin bowed and gestured sharply to the guards who shoved the prisoners out of the room. As they left the crowd buzzed even louder than before. The group marched through twisting hallways, through doors, and down three flights of stairs before reaching the entrance to the dungeon. The guard at the door bowed to Grondin and held the door open as the group passed through. The dungeon stank of soiled straw and mold in the humid air. The only light came through the currently open door and a small barred window on the other side of the room. Cells lined the wall, separated by walls of iron bars stretching floor to ceiling. There were no other prisoners in this wing of the dungeon. They crossed to the end of the room and the soldiers grabbed the prisoners and shoved each one into a cell. Forming a line they marched away, but Grondin paused in front of Arthur’s cell.

“I can’t help but admire your guts young king, but your words angered the man who’s fist controls your doom. You would do well to remember that you no longer hold any power here. Another display like that may be your last. Think about it,” he barked out a laugh. “You have plenty of time!” With that Grondin swept out of the room, slamming the door and leaving the captives alone in the dungeon. No one said anything for a moment, and the shuffling of straw and clink of chains was all that could be heard. Even as the minutes turned into hours and still no one knew what to say. Two guards shuffled in through the door and dropped into two chairs at the corner of the room. Soon a fistful of dice rolled across the wooden table between them. However, the yellow gleam from the lamp they brought with them was a small comfort to the captives.

 

Grondin entered his chambers, and shut the doors with a little more force than necessary. He was going to change and then go straight to bed, but the insistent tapping on his window made him sigh and he let in the croaking raven. The bird shook itself, dipped its beak into Grondin’s water goblet, and hopped over to his desk to begin preening. Grondin unrolled the scroll the raven had been carrying.

 

Rùnar,

My spies will alert me of your success, upon your return. Grondin frowned, of course she would assume he would be successful, but it was still annoying. When your position as steward over Camelot is secure do not wait to alert me, I have already begun planning how we will use it to our advantage. As for Arthur and his knights it is very important that you follow these instructions carefully, and as quickly as possible. Arthur has a young knight who knows some information that is very valuable to me. He is about eighteen years of age, with dark curly hair and blue eyes. He is also a druid, and you will be able to identify him because he bears their mark just below his shoulder. Mordred, as his called, knows the identity of the great warlock Emrys, a man who it is imperative that we discover and destroy before he can put our plans into jeopardy. Once you have learned Emrys’s identity report to me and I will personally take care of him.

I trust that you understand the crucial nature of this letter. I dare not say more than the fact that all our plans hang in the balance. You have not failed me since I sent you to Amata, and for that reason I put my fate in your hands because I trust you to protect it to the best of your ability. I know you will not fail me.

 

Grondin tried to settle his stomach, which was churning at the moment. The weight of his responsibility settled on his shoulders and he slumped backwards in his chair, letting the letter fall to the floor from numb fingers. His lady’s fate in his hands? Grondin knew he wouldn’t be able to sort through the enormity of that statement in his exhausted state. He tiredly stuffed the letter into a desk drawer before forcing himself to change and then dragging himself to bed. Some things would have to wait until morning. He was so tired that he forgot to close the window, and never noticed the raven flying back out of it.

 

Arthur and the knights had finally drifted off to sleep and the only light in the dungeon came from the flickering lantern resting on the guards’ table. They had abandoned their dice game hours before and now were boredly watching the prisoners. Merlin let his gaze go out of focus and sunk into his own thoughts. He knew that he couldn’t waste any time, so he did his best to focus on coming up with the framework of an escape plan. Obviously the reason they were all still alive was because the Sarrum needed some sort of insurance to keep Camelot from mobilizing her army and reaching out to her allies. That meant that contacting Gwen looking  for help would have to be a last resort. If anyone from Camelot was discovered trying to rescue the captives their lives would be forfeit and Amata would attack. No, there had to be another way. Merlin briefly considered Killgarah, but the dragon would never be able to penetrate the castle walls far enough to get to the dungeon. He could still be useful though. Who did Merlin know that could get inside the castle walls undetected? A druid? Despite danger of the Sarrum if it was Emrys who called on them a druid would probably come, but Merlin knew he wouldn’t abuse his power that way. Then the thought hit him. The Lady Mithian! He had only spent a little time with the lady, but he had initially been impressed with her courtesy and kindness. Even though she had nearly gotten them all killed Merlin had been able to forgive her when he realized that everything she had done had been for her father, and when he remembered how she had tried to warn him about Morgana, risking her own safety. Merlin knew he could trust her now because of her loyalty and courage. If there was anyone who could work her way into the castle and play a part in Merlin’s plan it was the Lady Mithian. Now he just needed a way to contact her. Merlin realized he didn’t know any spells that would let him “mind speak” to anyone without magic. He would need to use a messenger, but Merlin could hardly send a person. He would need something that could be swift, would look natural, and preferably be small enough to stay unnoticed. Merlin remembered the raven he had seen perching on the parapets of the castle earlier that day. It would be able to fit through the barred dungeon window, and it would be able to cover distances quickly without drawing a second glance! Merlin felt a leap of hope in his breast, but he was afraid of getting too excited this early. With these beginnings of a plan Merlin slipped back into reality.

Squinting his eyes through the gloom he could see that the two guards had slumped shoulders and dropping eyes. Merlin figured that if he helped them along to sleep neither would suspect one of the captives of using magic. He looked down and whispered a spell. A shadow of gold lit the air and by the time Merlin had looked back up the guards were already asleep. Merlin reached out again with his magic, trying to locate the raven, hoping beyond hope it was still on the castle grounds. Ha! It was! Merlin’s magic brushed the bird’s conscious and called it. Then Merlin quickly tore off a piece of his shirt and spread it out on the ground. As he hunched his body over the cloth inky black letters magically spidered across the cloth. A rustle of feathers alerted him as he finished and Merlin spun around to see the raven perching in the barred window. The bird hopped down and across the space to Merlin’s cell where the warlock used some threads to bind the letter to the bird’s leg.

“Fleogan, gestrenge ofost a geðo þeos bod a þá Lady Mithian.” The bird dipped its head and then flew back to the window, where it melted into the dark night.

  
  



	13. Chapter twelve: Gaius the Radical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience everybody! I’m back from vacation and now the adventure can continue. Gwen and Gaius have been pretty bored hanging around and worrying in the background so I finally gave in (Gwen is even scarier when she’s pregnant!) and brought us back to Camelot so they could have a chance to do something.

“My Queen, a messenger of Amata has arrived!” As was happening quite often lately, the great hall’s oaken  doors swung open to admit a messenger, although this time there was only one royal to receive him. The dusty man presented the queen with a scroll, sealed with the emblem of Amata, and she gave the orders for him to be looked after. When the doors had closed shut behind him Gaius moved to stand beside Gwen and she read the letter out loud so he could hear. 

_ To the Queen who holds authority over Camelot, _

_ If you value the lives of your husband, his knights, and his servant which accompanied him on his journey then you must comply with every detail of this letter. Any attempt at rescue, communication with other kingdoms, or mobilization of your army will be seen as an act of war. Then the hostages lives will be forfeit and Camelot will face the full wrath of the army of Amata.  _

_ Erebus, Sarrum of Amata _

The royal seal of Amata was stamped beside the Sarrum’s signature in dripping, blood red wax.

Guinevere pressed a shaking hand to her face, and the letter fell to the floor. Gaius bent down to retrieve the letter and quickly strightend to help the queen out of her throne. He guided her trembling body all the way back to her chambers. Gently he helped her sit down on her bed and it was then that she broke. Guievere sobbed into Gaius’s shoulder and he simply held her through her agony. They were frozen in that position for an entire hour, Gaius soothingly patting her back like a father. Ultimately Guinevere was able to master herself. She heaved another deep breath and grasped Gaius’s hand with an iron grip. Pushing through her wracking sobs, she took deep, shuddering breaths. With her breathing somewhat more under control she managed to thank Gaius and then ask him for some time to be alone. He nodded silently and rose stiffly, placing the crumpled letter on a table before he left. 

“The Queen is unwell. I would ask that she would remain undisturbed for the rest of the day,” Gaius spoke quietly to the guard posted outside the door. He nodded and Gaius turned to make his way back to his own chambers. He felt surprising numb, his mind going elsewhere as his feet automatically returned him to his chambers. Closing the door behind him Gaius went over to his work bench and began to mix herbs. It was as if something was blocking the reality of the letter from hitting him with all its gravity. Gaius worked through the rest of the day normally, but it was only as he softly blew out the candles around the room and crawled stiffly into bed that reality caught up with him. Gaius jerked upright in the dark, panting.  _ Merlin was in the hands of the Sarrum! Arthur, the king of Camelot, was being held for ransom!  _ There was an impending invasion and Camelot had no way to protect herself. But more than anything Gaius thought of Merlin. Was he injured? Sick? Had he been found out for having magic? Gaius pictured Merlin lying in a dark cell, face pale and drawn, quietly awaiting some cruel fate. That night was the first night in five decades that Gaius cried himself to sleep. 

 

The next morning Gaius rose from bed haggardly, feeling a hundred years old. He spent the morning pulling all sorts of book off his shelves and pouring over them before shuffling to the door to the royal chambers and knocking. By then it was around noon.  

“Please come back later, I’m not feeling quite well this morning.” Gaius would have missed the soft tremor in the queen’s voice if he hadn’t been listening for it. 

“Guinevere, it’s Gaius.” The door cracked open and Gaius could see Guinevere’s tear-stained face peek through. She opened the door just far enough for Gaius to come in and closed it quickly once he had entered. Gaius sat down on a chair while Gwen stood, biting her lip and staring at him, a hand resting on her abdomen. 

“I know that the events of yesterday… are still very recent,” Gaius began tactically. “But still I believed that we should speak today.” Guinevere interrupted him quickly before he could go on. 

“Gaius, I know this has been as difficult for you as it is for me. Merlin has always been like a son to you.” 

“Yes,” Gaius couldn’t meet Guievere’s gaze and he continued on hurriedly. “I am quite willing to speak on your behalf with those that you wish to share these, ahem,  _ developments  _ with. If it would help that is,” Gaius added. Gwen nodded. 

“I appreciate your offer Gaius, but I shall speak with them myself. It is my responsibility as queen, despite my own emotions,” she gave him a very slight, wry smile. Fresh tears started to form and she hastily brushed them away. Gaius pretended he hadn’t noticed and continued on.

“I was doing a lot of thinking this morning to try to come up with some way that we could help the king. I searched through many of my books, and I believe I may have found a… possibility,” Gaius spoke cautiously, not wanting to make Guinevere too excited. “My Lady, what I am about to tell you is strictly confidential.” Gwen leaned forwards.

“Of course.”

“As you may already know, before the Great Purge began magic was practiced freely by many of Camelot’s citizens,” Gwen narrowed her eyes at the last bit, and Gaius wondered if she had already predicted where he was taking the conversation. “It was during this time that as court physician I felt it was my responsibility to explore all possible aspects of healing. I studied the scientific method and medicine extensively, but there were some ailments that I discovered could only be best treated using magic.” Gwen’s eyebrows shot up and her mouth thinned, but she still didn’t say anything. Gaius continued with trepidation. “Please believe me when I tell you that I studied magic solely for the benefit of my patients, and I have not practiced it since King Uther began the Great Purge. However, this morning when I realized that Arthur’s hour of need had come I researched all I could, as I said. Gwen, I know I may sound… mad, but I can’t deny that the only way we can aid Arthur, the knights, and Merlin is through  _ magic. _ ” Gaius’s face was grim and serious. “I would not suggest this, My Queen, if I did not believe it was the only way to save the king.” Gaius tried to convey his honesty, empathy, and certitude all together in one expression. Guinevere sighed and sat down across from Gaius, clasping her hands together on the table. 

“You know that I trust you Gaius. You have always been there for Merlin, but after my father died you became a father to, well to  _ me  _ as well.” Guinevere let out a smile that actually reached her eyes and she reached over the table to grasp Gaius’s hand. Her other hand again rested on her abdomen. “I want you to know that I believe that everything you have done you have done to benefit others. I know you are a good man Gaius. However, I have personally seen, on numerous occasions, the evils of magic and how it can corrupt and destroy. You are the only friend I have left and I am not willing to risk,” she gestured around her, “ _ everything _ for the sake of something that has only brought grief to everyone I know.” Guinevere tried to show that she wasn’t angry, only remorseful. Gaius stacked his other hand on top of the one clasping his own. 

“Gwen, I know that between your father’s death, your brother’s possession, and Morgana’s betrayal you have no reason to trust magic. But I want you to know that  _ despite _ Uther magic has always existed in Camelot. Oh not through me,” Gaius held up his hand in defense, “But magic does live in this land and it has selflessly protected this kingdom for years. Gwen, magic is a tool, a powerful one, but a tool nonetheless. It is no more corrupting than the power of sovereignty.” Gaius arched an eyebrow at her. “What I am suggesting is an old kind of magic. Despite my years of study before the Great Purge I have very little natural affinity for magic, so my abilities are very limited. But, there is a spell that I know of that I believe would be powerful enough to help the king. It is old magic that is rooted deep in the earth.” Gaius paused again to watch her reaction. She arched an eyebrow at him.

“I’m listening Gaius, please continue.” Gaius took a deep breath and launched into the specifics of the spell. 

“The reason I would be able to cast such a powerful spell despite my lack of magical affinity is because this magic already resides deep in the earth, unlike other spells where magic has to be called from within a person. All I would have to do is open up a chanel and direct the flow of the old magic. Old magic like this is unrefined and raw, so it draws on raw emotions, things that are as old and unrefined as it is. This spell that I would cast would draw on your love for Arthur. Your physical presence would increase the volume of your love for him, making it powerful enough to become the connecting link to Arthur’s love in turn for you, his love for the knights, for Merlin, and their love for each other. The spell would strengthen this interlocking web and allow everyone connected to it to draw upon the strength of each other. It would put selfless love at the forefront of their minds so it can greatly influence their actions. As I said, this is unrefined old magic, so it only acts as an influence over the situation, instead of doing one thing in particular, like the magic you have seen.” Gaius sighed. “Gwen, it is not that I do not trust Arthur, Merlin and the knights to take care of each other. It is because I know that escape is their only hope, and they will not be able to do that unless they are completely united. They need as much time as we can give them, and this is the only thing I can think of to do that without arousing the Sarrum’s suspicion. Also,” Guinevere saw the fear gaius had been trying to hide from her and suddenly she saw only a tired old man. “I fear that their friendship will be tested very soon. If it breaks then...” Gaius trailed off, lost in his thoughts and his gaze dropped to the floor. Guinevere cleared her throat and he jerked back up to look at her, letting out a sheepish chuckle. 

“I’m sorry about that Gwen-” But she cut him off. 

“Alright Gaius, you’ve had your say, and been rather cryptic about it I might add.”

“My Lady,” Gwen held up a hand, stopping him.

“But I can see the wisdom in what you have to say. I will admit that I agree with you that this spell seems to be our only hope of helping Arthur. But please don’t think that this has changed my view of magic.” She smiled wryly again. “You’ve been characteristically cryptic Gaius. But don’t worry, I have too much respect for you to question how you seem to know these things. I can only hope that this “magic” that has been protecting Camelot never changes their mind and joins Morgana.” 

“Oh no, Gwen, they will always stay loyal to Camelot. It is their destiny.” Gwen laughed at how certain Gaius sounded. She got up and he stood with her. “I am proud of you Gwen, you made the right decision.”

“I can only hope so. For, for all our sakes.” She looked down at the little bump on her abdomen and caressed it gently.    

  
  



	14. Chapter Thirteen: Though I Walk Through the Valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was always sad that Merlin never got a chance at love. When I discovered the Mithian and Merlin ship I jumped on board immediately. And now for her grand debut, *drum roll* The Lady Mithian! Er, well she comes in at the end of the chapter anyways.

“ _ Grruhhh..! _ ” Grondin stretched, groaning as he woke. He blearily wiped his eyes and rolled out of his bed. Yawning Grondin started going through his daily morning routine as usual until it hit him.  _ I was honoured in front of the entire court! It couldn’t have gone better!  _ But then Grondin remembered the other half of the night.  _ The letter!  _ He smacked himself in the forehead and rushed over to his desk, ripping open the drawer and grabbing the letter. He skimmed it again. His breathing had become ragged and he worked to calm himself.  _ One piece at a time.  _ He was sure he did have the druid knight in the cells, and he could confirm it later. Yes, he was under a lot of responsibility but he had the druid, _ and it shouldn’t be that hard to make him talk. Then all I have to do is send the information to Morgana. She already said she would take care of the rest.  _ Feeling better Grondin dressed, even humming a little low tune. Breakfast arrived and he ate contentedly before leaving his chambers. As he walked down the hallway he sobered, remembering what he had to do. Interrogations were not something he enjoyed conducting, but that wouldn’t stop him from doing whatever it took to fulfil his lady’s demands. He was about to leave but he noticed something else resting on his desk. A thin metal hoop glinted in the light and Grondin saw that it emitted a faint glow. He guessed the raven had delivered it the night before along with the letter, and in his tired state he hadn’t noticed it. A small note was attached to the hoop. 

_ This armband blocks the magic of the one wearing it. I am certain of it’s power because it was the reason I was unable to escape that accursed pit for two years. When I escaped I took it with me so that one day I could wield it against it’s former owner. Now in your actions you carry out my revenge for me Rùnar. Beware the magic of the druid, he is uneducated but powerful. Once he wears the armband he will not be able to remove it.  _

Grondin sighed thankfully. This would indeed be helpful. 

He entered the armoury instead of going straight to the dungeon. Some of the knights that were there looked up in surprise to see the lord, but when they saw him grab a whip from the wall they guessed his reasons and shuddered. 

 

Merlin’s back ached from sleeping on the hard ground. He was hungry and thirsty and his mood was quickly growing as prickly as a porcupine, without the benefit of being cute. Of course he had always expected as much, but at this point he was seriously considering using his magic to send the guards to sleep, lift the keys out of their pocket, somehow find and grab the Lady Mithian and make a run for it. Unfortunately that plan was quickly ruined by what happened next. 

There were no beds in the cells, only a wooden bucket in the corner and an old layer of straw across the floor. The captives awoke blearily eyed and stiff, their empty stomachs howling. Arthur could feel his mouth fill with drool when the smells of the guards’ breakfast reached his nose. Noticing that all the captives were staring at them with poorly concealed jealousy one of the guards casually reached for a burlap sack hanging on a peg above the table. He drew out hunks of stale, mold speckled bread. Tossing a piece into each cell he then picked up a pitcher of murky water, poured a small cup full, and handed it through the bars of the first cell. When Sir Percival had drained it and handed it back to him the guard refilled the cup and passed it into the next cell, and so on until each prisoner had drunk. Glancing at his men Arthur noticed that although their thirst had compelled them to drink the water without hesitation they each eyed the bread more warily. Leon tasted a nibble and Gwaine took a bite, screwing up his face at the flavour. Athur waited a minute and when no ghastly occurrences happened to his two knights he figured that eating old bread was the least of his problems, and his stomach agreed. Grasping the hard lump he bit in, chewing and then gulping the dry clumps of bread down. It wasn’t completely disgusting and he finished it in a few bites. Arthur noticed that Merlin hadn’t touched his bread. 

“ _ Mer _ lin don’t be such a girl! That's all you’ll be getting around here and having you keel over from hunger is the last thing we need.” 

“I’m not hungry,” was Merlin’s short reply. Arthur sighed in exasperation at his servant’s stubbornness. 

“Then at least give it to one of us who actually has a stomach.” Merlin grumbled and reached the bread through the bars of his cell to Sir Elyan’s outstretched hand. The knight broke the bread into pieces, taking one for himself and passing the others along. They were all chewing noisily when Lord Grondin reappeared. Arthur’s gaze came into sharp focus and he jumped to his feet, but to his surprise Lord Grondin walked past him without a second glance. He motioned to one of the guards who came to join in front of Mordred’s cell, unlocking the door with one of the rusty keys in his pocket. Mordred stood up, taking a step back uncertainly but Lord Grondin walked into the cell and grabbed him, one hand on the chain of his manacles and the other hand clamped on his shoulder. Mordred thrashed in his grip but he wasn’t at his full strength and one of the guards seized his other shoulder, helping Lord Grondin escort him from the cell. Arthur’s eyes opened wide and the other knights got to their feet.  _ What’s going on? Where are they taking him?  _ Arthur didn’t stop to think about these things. Instead he started banging on the bars of his cell, shouting,

“Leave him! Leave him!” And the other knights joined in, rattling the bars and shouting too. As Lord Grondin passed Arthur caught a glimpse of the whip at his belt. Arthur beat the bars with all his might. “No! Let him go! LEAVE HIM!” Arthur caught Mordred’s terrified stare as the dungeon door closed behind them. The other guard pulled a club from a hook on the wall and hit the captives bars’ yelling at them to shut up. He caught Arthur’s knuckles and the king pulled his hand away on reflex. Feeling utterly defeated the knights fell silent. Arthur cast his glance around but realized that Merlin was still sitting, his mouth a thin line as he stared at the door. Arthur was taken aback at how cold his gaze was. 

“Merlin..?” Merlin responded softly, but with a hard edge to his voice. 

“I  _ warned _ you against this stupid journey. Since we stepped foot outside of Camelot’s borders  _ nothing _ had gone our way. Perhaps fate is just telling us to give up. Obviously we can’t control our destiny so why even bother trying?” The bitter words came rushing out of Merlin’s mouth and he was too frustrated to even process entirely what he was saying. The temptation to just blast himself out of the fortress, summon Killgarah, fly all the way back to Camelot and return to sleep in his own bed in Gaius’s chambers was driving him crazy. Having to sit while his magic burned under his skin while he waited until he was sure he could get  _ everyone  _ safely out of the castle was a different story. Honestly it was one that Merlin had lived out so many times over the years. This time he still wasn’t yet sure how he could manage it without revealing his magic, and now that Mordred had disappeared somewhere a frustratingly hard task had become so-hard-he-wanted-to-rip-his-hair-out-of-his-head.  _ Either way my plan is lost. I mean sure, one less person to try and save would be useful.  _ Merlin didn’t know if he actually could bring himself to leave Mordred behind in the Sarrum’s clutches, but regardless the decision had already been made.  _ Even if I wanted to leave Mordred Arthur and the knights never would. Ugh. I really hope Mithian is on her way.  _

“ _ Mer _ lin you aren’t actually serious are you?” Arthur could count on one hand the times he had seen his manservant had been so discouraged. Despite his stubbornness or pessimism Merlin had always been his rock, the one who kept him going, the one who always believed in him. To hear Merlin speak these things was disheartening to say the least. 

“Then what else should I say to get it into your thick head you clotpole?” Merlin snapped. He trailed off and stared at the ground as his friends watched him with growing concern. “Just give me some time to think…I just need to think,” he mumbled. Arthur and the knights looked at each other, eyes wide. None of them knew what to say, but they could tell that something was very wrong indeed with their friend. 

 

Mordred continued to struggle in vain as he was lead down another corridor. Eventually the guard let go of him to unlock a door and hold it open while Lord Grondin shoved Mordred inside. The guard grabbed something from Grondin’s belt as they passed, but Mordred’s attention was focused elsewhere. He heard the lock click behind them and stopped struggling, standing panting as he faced Lord Grondin. 

“Remove your shirt.” Mordred’s hand shot to grip the fabric at his shoulder, but he didn’t pull the shirt off. Grondin was quickly growing impatient. “Take it off  _ now _ , or I will do it for you.” Mordred took a step back. He still clung to the desperate hope that Grondin didn’t know about his magic so he didn’t dare to use it, yet. “Take. It off.” Grondin reached out and grabbed Mordred’s shirt and tried to force it up, but Mordred fought him. In a quick movement Grondin pulled a knife from his belt and sliced through the fabric. It fell away, leaving Mordred’s chest bare and his tattoo in full view. The corner of Grondin’s mouth quirked upwards. 

_ He knows! _ Mordred knew his only chance had come. He thrust out his hands, letting out a burst of magic that slammed Lord Grondin back against the wall, where the man lay, dazed. 

“ _ Tospringe _ ,” Mordred held out his hands and his eyes flashed gold again. The door swung open. He stuck his head out into the hallway and  _ wham!  _ A mail-clad body barreled into him and bowled him over. Mordred threw off the man with a thrust of magic, but suddenly at least twenty men were in the hallway. He managed to knock a few of them backwards but he was soon overpowered. Abruptly the guard appeared beside him. Something clicked and Mordred felt cold metal surround his bicep. At the same time the gold flickered out of his eyes, and he felt the fiery flow of magic drain from his veins, leaving him cold and weak. Guards seized him and dragged him back into the room where Lord Grondin was rubbing his head but looking very much alert. The door clicked shut a second time and the two were left alone. 

“You have no defenses left sorcerer, so I suggest you cooperate. I’m sure that your elders would have filled your head with stories about those who didn’t.” he paused for a moment. 

“Answer my questions and you will make your future much easier to bear.” Mordred shivered but didn’t say anything. He tried to still his trembling arms but the clanking chains gave his fear away. Lord Grondin smiled. “You are right to fear me sorcerer, but remember that I am not the Sarrum. One captive knight can be overlooked and the knowledge that a sorcerer is in the Sarrum’s dungeons doesn’t need to reach his ears, if you cooperate.” Mordred could feel the temptation tugging on his brain. The man’s offer was tempting to say the least. Lord Grondin seemed to think he had waited long enough for his words to sink in so he continued.

“Tell me, druid, who is Emrys?”

“I have no idea who-” Lord Grondin raised a hand to silence him. 

“I  _ know _ you know who he is.” Mordred gulped. It would be useless to feign ignorance. He knew he would never betray Emrys but… Lord Grondin sighed and reached into his belt and slowly drew out the whip. Mordred’s eyes widened. “Perhaps your tongue can be loosened.” 

 

**And NOW for her grand debut, the Lady Mithian!**

_ Earlier that morning in Nemeth. _

Warm morning light poured into the Lady Mithian’s bedchamber as she threw open the curtains, unlocked the window and breathed deeply. Morning was her favourite time of day. She was full of energy and there was not a shred of sleepiness that clung to her. Mithian turned to sit at her desk and started to brush out her hair. A servant arrived with a breakfast try and She welcomed her in. The servant set the tray on a table, curtseyed, and left. Mithian had began to eat when a harsh noise startled her.  _ Caw caw! What?  _ She spun around to look but,  _ Ahh!  _ Mithian’s spoon went flying and she leapt up from the table gracelessly, her chair falling over with a crash behind her. A glossy raven was perched nonchalantly on her table.  _ What’s with all the fuss?  _ It seemed to say from the expression in it’s little feathered face. Mithian scowled at it and bent to retrieve her spoon. “

“You try having someone show up out of nowhere, sitting inches from your breakfast,” She felt a little crazy talking to a bird, but the words had come out without her thinking. The raven cackled and flapped over to the edge of the table. Mithian crossed her arms and stared down at the sleek bird, unsure what to make of the situation. The raven cocked its head at her and nudged her arm with its leg. Mithian noticed the ragged scroll bound to the bird’s leg.  _ What..? _ Curiosity overpowered any trepidation she may have felt and she gently removed it. Mithian started to read and,  _ Ohhh!  _ She gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. She narrowed her eyes and read the message again. _ So I didn’t misread anything. This letter is definitely a cry for help. _ Of that much at least, she was sure. Mithian had little trouble remembering Merlin, the brave servant who had come to save Arthur from Odin and Morgana in the old tomb just months ago. She owed him, Arthur and the knights a great debt for freeing her father and then for forgiving her deception. Mithian knew she couldn’t ignore the letter, even though what it asked of her was… terrifying. But, she reminded herself, she  _ had  _ already faced being the prisoner and pawn of Odin and Morgana and she had come out alive. If she did what Merlin asked she would still be in danger, but at least this time she wouldn’t have Morgana breathing down her neck night and day. Mithian had been shocked, however, to learn that Merlin was a sorcerer. She almost wouldn’t have believed  it but a raven delivering a high-security prisoner’s message to the table in her bedchamber was solid proof of his powers. When she thought about it she remembered the timely earthquake that had saved them in the tomb.  _ Perhaps it was no chance earthquake.  _ She could only wonder at what else he had done.  _ No, I’m sure I owe that man much more than I know.  _ She was even surprised at how untroubled she was at the revelation. Magic wasn’t officially banned in Nemeth, but it was strongly discouraged, mostly because of the “Great Purge” that had happened in Camelot. Not wanting to risk their alliance Nemeth had adopted a stronger stance against magic to please her powerful neighbor. If she was honest with herself Mithian had never thought much about magic, but she had seen Merlin’s courage and loyalty to his king and she couldn’t believe that he would use it for anything but the good of those around him.  _ But what about Arthur? Did he know his most trusted servant was a sorcerer?  _ Mithian frowned. She guessed that he didn’t because the laws against magic were still enforced in Camelot. Still, Mithian couldn’t help but marvel at Merlin’s loyalty to a king who’s laws went against his very existence! How long had Merlin been in Camelot? Years.  _ How could I not do what he asked? I, I must. But my father…  _ Mithian felt a twinge of guilt. She loved him, but she knew she couldn’t tell him what she was planning. If only so many lives weren’t at stake… 

All through the day Mithian gathered the necessary provisions, planning out her route in her head. Forgetting her original irritation she fed the raven bits of food from her meals and, being an intelligent bird, it stuck around hoping for more morsels. Mithian changed into the clothes of a peasant, feeling the scratchy cloth slide over her smooth skin. She hoped she looked average enough to pass unnoticed. Searching in her drawer she pulled out a piece of dried fruit and offered it to the raven who gulped it down. 

“You’re welcome,” Mithian laughed as the bird looked back at her with sleepy eyes. Stuffed and tired the raven flapped up on top of her wardrobe and fell asleep, choosing the most secure and hidden place it could find in the room to rest. Mithian smiled and gathered up her things. Thoughts focused on her mission she forgot about the raven now that it was hidden from view. Finally, after hours of preparation she knew the time had come.  _ I can’t put this off any longer.  _ She gazed around the room one last time before closing and locking the window, and placing a note on her bed. It was vague but at least her father would know she had left of her own volition.  _ Keep yourself under control, Mithian. Come on, no time for tears now.  _ Still they slipped out of her eyes as she set the note down.  By now it was late and under the cover of night she snuck down to the stables, packed her saddlebags and rode out of the castle, down the road.

 

It took two days for Mithian to reach the border of Amata and another day of travel to reach the castle. It took her breath away, the grand fortress perched on the cliff, visible from so far away. Mithian wasn’t sure how she would be able to convince the castle staff to hire her, but she figured she would cross that bridge when she came to it. Until then she had two hours to prepare a story before she reached her destination.

  
  



	15. Chapter Fourteen: Everybody and Their Uncle

“Alright my daughters, remember what I told you?” Lady Eileane primly queried. The two girls sighed and repeated together, 

“Curtsy when you meet someone, never raise your voice, never run, eat slowly, take small bites-” 

“Good, good. Now, the journey to the castle will take about a day. A tutor has been hired for your studies and Lord Grondin will be seeing that your needs are met while you are there.” The woman surveyed her daughters with an approving eye and her chest puffed out with pride. She was positive that her daughters were the perfect image of class and finery. They were dressed in matching satin dresses with lace trim. Their braided hair hung smoothly down their backs and small, delicate pearls encircled their necks. Then her eyes traveled back to her daughters faces’ and she was surprised to see that the younger was looking at her confused. 

 “Mother,  _ how _ is Lord Grondin related to us again?” she asked, her face scrunched in bewilderment. Her eyes had been darting around during her mother’s speech but now they had focused back on Lady Eileane. 

“He is my cousin and therefore your first cousin once removed,” their mother recited as if it all made perfect sense. With barely a pause she continued on. “Now while you’re in Camelot be sure to follow all I have taught you. I am expecting you  _ both _ to behave like the ladies I have brought you up to become,” their mother mistook her daughters unblinking stares for attentiveness, not registering their glazed-over eyes. Finally, after a few more dramatic monologues Lady Eileane was satisfied that her message had gotten through and that it was time for the girls to begin their journey to the capital. With her hands on her hips, but an excited smile on her face, she watched the carriage bounce away from the country estate.  _ Her daughters were going to the castle! She had practically raised them for this! All would be well, and their futures are in the process of being secured. As long as their tutor isn’t some liberal, _ she conceded.  

 

Far away in the castle was another set of unblinking glazed eyes. Lord Grondin was staring at the papers littering his desk when he was rudely interrupted, or so he felt. 

“Lord Grondin I was asked to remind you that your… nieces? Will be here tomorrow.” Grondin looked up sharply at the servant’s head sticking through his door.  _ His nieces? What on earth…  _ But then he remembered. Lady Eileane has sent a letter last month alerting him that she would be sending her two daughters to the castle to be “educated.” Really Grondin knew it was just a status-seeking mother’s bad excuse to give her daughters a chance to experience court life. They would get to mingle with Amata’s upper crest in a way they couldn’t while living out in their country estate. 

Lady Eileane’s letter had booked little argument and Lord Grondin had decided to avoid that battle and concede to her requests. Back then he hadn’t had any idea, however, how his critical his situation would become in a month. 

Regardless of what it seemed, the bit about his nieces coming to the capital was fairly straight forwards. The actual “niece” part was a little more complicated though. Grondin leaned back in his chair and let his mind slip into memories. 

He could still feel the forest breezes chill his skin, remember the way his simple, unadorned clothes had flowed loosely around him. Only a year ago he, the lady Morgana, and her followers had been camped deep in the forest one cool autumn night. Back then he had only thought it to be a night like any other. An unsuspecting Grondin had stayed awake late, and it was in the fire’s dying light that his Lady had approached him with an assignment.  _ Hmm. How much can change within a year’s time.  _ During those days he was still called  by his true name, Rùnar. He had been chosen for the assignment out of his Lady’s top ranking followers so he had recognized the huge honor of being selected and had felt no shortage of pride. That night, around those red embers, his Lady had shared with him how she had long thirsted for revenge against the Sarrum because of the cruelty she had suffered at his hands. He had only had a general idea of what had happened, so hearing the details of her suffering from Morgana’s own lips had shocked and disturbed him to no end. She went on to say that she had heard of a little-known lord called Grondin who was traveling to the capital of Amata to join the Sarrum’s court, though only at it’s most low-ranking circles. Morgana had smiled then. Hungry and wolf-like she explained how she had seized the opportunity. After attacking Lord Grondin’s meager escort she had disposed of the bodies, including Lord Grondin’s. The next morning Rùnar had dressed in the dead lord’s clothes and left for the capital of Amata with a similar escort. Never once since he had arrived had he been suspected to be anything other than what he had claimed. 

Morgana had realized early on in her plan that to hurt the Sarrum she would have to attack him covertly from within his own circle. He still felt a surge of pride when he thought about what his Lady had said to him before he had left her camp that morning a year ago. She told him he had been chosen because she had faith in his ability to manipulate those in the Sarrum’s court. Rùnar, now called Grondin, had quickly proved her right as he climbed the ranks, the finale of his efforts being his successful capture of Camelot’s king. 

For the last year Morgana had been gathering her strength and Rùnar had been patiently waiting for her signal to begin a coup d’état. However the unexpected developments concerning the hostages from Camelot had drastically changed the situation. Morgana’s preparation time had been cut short, but she was quickly discovering how she could use Rùnar to make the most of the new opportunity. 

Rùnar-  _ No,  _ he corrected himself,  _  I must forget that old name and continue to think of myself as Grondin.  _ He clenched his jaw. _ I can’t afford a slip-up, not now.  _ But A wrench  _ had _ been thrown into their plans. Lord Grondin was now responsible for the welfare of two young ladies whom he had never met, and who would be arriving tomorrow. This would certainly be interesting. 

From where he sat at his desk Lord Grondin leaned forwards to look out the window of his chambers and spotted a dark-haired, fair woman leading a horse with full saddlebags into the castle grounds.. She seemed to be looking around awkwardly, swinging her head from side to side, and moving forwards without a clear direction. Lord Grondin sat back in his seat, relieved.  _ Well at least one thing is going my way. The tutor is here early.  _ He jumped up and slid on his jacket before leaving to go and greet her. __

 

Guinevere perched nervously on a stool in Gaius’s high-ceilinged chamber. Even though both her heart and her mind agreed that she was doing the right thing, and encouraged her to trust Gaius, there was still a part deep inside of her that doubted. That combined with a lack of sleep from the night before and her dread at sharing the news of Arthur’s capture with the court and knights was more than enough to make her chest tight and set her teeth on edge. Right now Gaius had his back to her, rummaging through a large spell book Guinevere guessed he had somehow kept hidden through the Purge. Again she reminded herself that she wasn’t interested in asking questions she didn’t want to know the answers to. She trusted Gaius who knew infinitely more about magic than she did, or so she told herself. Occasionally he would glance up at her from time to time, but he seemed to be too distracted to notice her internal struggle. Guinevere took a deep breath and focused on staying calm. She ran a hand over her slightly protruding belly and despite it all found herself smiling. Guinevere was just about to ask Gaius if he had discovered any new information when he unknowingly answered the question for her. 

“ _ Well _ . It seems that what we will need to perform the spell shouldn’t be too difficult to find.” Gaius pointed a finger to something written in the book and Guievere slid off her stool to see what he was pointing at. She gazed over his shoulder at the tiny writing and pictures. Gaius glanced at her, but he couldn’t read her face and so he continued. “Old magic usually doesn’t call for complicated components. It says here that,” Gaius adjusted his spectacles as he traced the list on the page with his finger, “firstly we will need a physical person who will share in the spell once it is cast. As we talked about, that will be yourself, my queen.” Guinevere nodded. “The only other thing we will need is a rose.” Gaius pointed to a different section of the page and Guinevere’s eyes followed his finger. “This spell can be used to draw upon many different emotions, but since we will be focusing on love the book calls for us to use a rose. Now, the book directs the spell caster as well as the other person to stand in a place where there is ample space. Holding the rose aloft the caster, or myself, will recite the spell as I walk in a circle around you. When I am finished I will set the rose’s petals alight with a small flame and hand the rose over to you. You must be still and hold it until the full flower has burnt and fallen into ashes at your feet. Then we must gather the ashes and toss them in the direction of those who will also be a part of the spell.” Gaius leaned back with a grunt. “Truly it is a very straight forward spell for something fairly powerful.”  Guinevere nodded slowly in response. 

“When would be a good time to cast the spell?” she was still a little hesitant but her resolve was firm. Gaius peered at her. 

“It seems that we can cast it whenever you feel ready Guinevere. Although, it may be best to cast the spell  _ before _ you alert those you choose trustworthy about the situation. Once people know what has happened it will be even more difficult for you to step away from your duties as queen.” Guinevere thought this through and then nodded slowly. 

“Yes, I can see that you are right Gaius,” She heaved a great sigh and straightened her shoulders. “Very well. Once you have everything prepared please send a servant to notify me. Tell them to inform me that you will be going on a short trip concerning a personal matter for the day and say you are going to whatever place you have chosen to cast the spell. I will quietly leave the castle as quickly as I can and meet you there.” Gaius nodded and bowed his head to her.

“As you wish.” He looked up at Guinevere’s eyes and a smile crinkled his careworn face. “You truly have become a wonderful queen Gwen. I am proud to call you my leader.” Guinevere smiled back at him and turned to leave. 

“Thank you Gaius,” she opened the door, but then turned back, a slight smile on her lips. “I would have never guessed that you would be the one to encourage such  _ unconventional  _ methods.” 

“We are not always all that we appear to be,” Gaius responded with a characteristically perfect straight face. Guinevere chuckled. 

“No, indeed we are not.”     

  
  



	16. Update!

I’m sorry for the long hiatus! Currently I am keeping busy with school and preparing for Christmas craft markets! I’m hoping that in the new year I will have more time to write! I already have drafts done for future chapters plus the full story plan is mostly done.


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